The Lion and The Antelope
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: This is the entire collection of my AU Hotch/Prentiss stories-in the proper reading order-Takes place immediately following the finale of Season three I blew up Rossi . I will upload the finished version when I complete HOPE
1. Chapter 2

HORROR MOVIES SATISTICS AND A LIFETIME

"Statistically, if this was a horror movie, the only one guaranteed to survive would be Emily." Reid said. "And maybe Morgan or Hotch."

"What the hell you talkin' about now, kid?"

"In the majority of horror movies, there's a certain order to the characters' deaths."

"So who's first?" Rossi asked, willing to humor the young genius. "According to these statistics of yours?"

"Most likely JJ. Young and blonde—she'd go early in the movie."

"Spence, that's not exactly reassuring." JJ said from her place beside Emily. "Especially now."

They were lost in the South Dakota woods. The one SUV they'd been sharing having been disabled by nothing more simple than a dead battery. A small cell of militiamen were also loose in the woods, but they had no way of knowing whether they'd be hostile to the Feds or not. Hotch was erring on the side of caution, so instead of searching for help, they'd chosen to hole up in an abandoned barn a mile from their vehicle. They had two small blankets between them—from JJ and Emily's ready bags—a box of glucose fortified cereal bars from Emily's bag, and their weapons.

For Rossi and Prentiss, it really wasn't that unfamiliar of a situation—being comfortable in the woods was something they'd both found they had in common. For everyone else—city born and bred—it was much harder.

"It's going to get pretty cold." Emily warned. At least she, Morgan, and Rossi were dressed appropriately—cargo pants, boots, and long sleeved shirts. Hotch, Reid, and JJ weren't so lucky. JJ sat shivering in her thin skirt she'd worn for the evening's press conference. Hotch's suit had to be uncomfortable, but he never let on. It was something she both admired and abhorred about her supervisor—that unflappable cool.

"We'll just have to stay close." Hotch said, bluntly.

"That's fine, but no offense—I am not sleeping next to Emily. She kicks like a mule," JJ said, pulling her blanket tightly around herself. "Last time I had to share a hotel room with you—and Garcia--I woke up black and blue."

"None taken, I think." Emily said, ruefully. "I told you and Garcia that I'd better take the couch, but she insisted!"

"When was this?" Morgan asked, a small smile on his face as he imagined the three women sharing a room with one bed between them. It was (almost) every man's fantasy, after all.

"The St. Paul case." Emily said. "Remember that shack of a motel?"

"Oh yeah, that's the one where Hotch ended up sleeping in the bathtub in our room." Morgan said. "I got the pleasure of bunking with Reid. He doesn't kick—but he talks incessantly."

"That place really was a sight right out of a horror movie." JJ said, emphatically.

"Well, we've seen worse." Hotch added, "I think we should get some sleep. Morning will come early around here."

A few minutes later and they'd all arranged themselves as close as possible, to share body heat. Because they'd been smart enough to pack the blankets—and because their smaller frames would lose body heat faster—Emily and JJ were at least covered by the blankets. Hotch and Reid had somehow ended up on each side of Emily, the former being crowded in a little closer than Emily would have liked.

He was the last person on the team she'd ever want to be that close to. He didn't like her, and she wasn't so sure she liked him, either. She respected him professionally, of course. But that was it.

Apparently she wasn't the only one uncomfortable with their new sleeping arrangements. Everyone lay their obviously wide awake for several moments until JJ spoke. "Em? You awake?"

"Yeah, Jay? What do you need?" Emily asked, shifting slightly, elbow inadvertently catching Hotch mid-chest. She hastily apologized and he smiled at her through the darkness. The cracks in the boards of the walls allowed just enough moonlight in to reflect off the white of his teeth in an almost macabre manner.

"Last minute bathroom break." JJ said, and the entire team could hear her embarrassment in her words.

"Come on. Let's go." Emily said, rising to step over Reid. The two women opened the barn door and slipped outside.

They'd been gone less than a minute before Reid spoke. "See, it's just like a horror movie."

"Kid, I swear…why is it just like a horror movie? It's just a bathroom break—women do that all the time. _And _they always go in little packs." Morgan said irritably. "Trust me, my sisters are the same way."

"Yeah, but they've went out into the dark, alone. If this was a horror movie—JJ wouldn't be coming back at all."

"Spencer, Prentiss and JJ will be back shortly, go to sleep." Hotch said, much as he would if Jack was fighting bedtime.

"Why do you do that?" Reid asked, "Call Emily by her last name, but everyone else is a first name basis when we're not working."

"I wasn't aware that I did."

"You do man, and let me tell you—she's noticed. Thinks you don't think of her as part of the team." Derek added, thinking of the things his friend had told him. They'd gotten pretty close since she'd joined the team, and he'd heard her rant about the coldly severe supervisor on several occasions. She'd called him a damned frozen Yeti on more than one occasion.

"I see." Hotch said, thinking over all their interchanges. Her strange arrival, his confronting her about her agenda, her quitting rather than spreading dirt about him and the team—she certainly _was _a part of the team.

His musings were interrupted by the door opening and the women returning to their spots on the large pile of hay.

"See, kid. Told you they'd come back." Morgan said, lying in his place between JJ and Spencer. The loft they were in was narrow, with just enough room for the entire team to lay side by side. Hotch and Rossi were on the outer edges with the younger agents arranged between them.

Hotch could smell her shampoo—even though it was light—over the musty scent of old barn. She'd recently switched brands. Strawberries. It inexplicably tightened his gut.

"Of course we came back, Derek. Why wouldn't we?" Emily asked, rolling on her side, putting her back in Hotch's direction. Trying to fool herself into thinking he wasn't back there.

He swallowed quietly, wondering if she was deliberately trying to shut him out from her consciousness. He wouldn't blame her if she was. He hadn't exactly been the most welcoming person to her. If he was honest with himself, she was probably the one who got the shortest end of the stick with him. She was always the one he had do the odd jobs, the small, meaningless tasks, the grunt work.

And she always did it perfectly, exactly as he needed it, and all without complaint. Because he'd asked her to. To help the team. To belong.

He always took advantage of her longing to be valued, be part of the team. He knew he'd made it abundantly clear she wasn't welcome on his team. But that was a long time ago. Had he bothered to make her understand that his opinions had changed?

Or had he been too busy with Hayley to even recognize that he was taking it out on Emily?

Because she'd take it. Do whatever he needed without a word of protest. Because Emily Prentiss so desperately wanted somewhere to belong.

He used that to his advantage.

But he could see where she'd possibly misunderstand his reasons. He did trust her, he really did. But in the back of his mind was always the thought that it was _his _job to keep _her_ as safe as he could—her and JJ, as safe as possible. If that meant giving her grunt jobs, then he'd do it. Maybe she'd been right when she'd said he didn't trust women the way he did men.

"Kid's convinced himself that this is a low budget horror film and that you two found some trouble out there." Rossi said, quietly.

"I've not convinced myself of anything." Reid said indignantly, as Emily settled around on the hay beside him. "I was just making a correlation between works of fiction and this instance."

"Go to sleep, kid." Morgan ordered, starting to get impatient. "You girls ok?"

"Hmm. Stuck in the woods with possibly crazy militiamen nearby—and Reid's horror movie statistics in my head—yeah, I'm fine. Having the time of my life. You, JJ?" Emily said, sarcastically. Morgan threw some straw over Reid to silence the woman, but he overshot and it soared over Emily and hit Hotch mid chest.

"Thanks, Derek. Just what I needed." Hotch said, flatly.

"Let's not forget that in this particular movie—I'm most likely already a goner." JJ said. "Of course, _you _don't have to worry, Em. According to Reid's stats, you're the only one guaranteed to survive."

"Gee, statistics are so reassuring." Emily replied, not aware that Hotch was watching her every move, every wiggle with a heated eye. The moonlight through the holes in the wall made visibility just possible.

Hotch knew exactly where and what she did.

"Hey, Reid. Why did you say, _one _of Morgan or Hotch? Why not both?" JJ asked softly, after she'd settled back down between Morgan and Rossi.

"Because depending on the class of movie—action or psychological thriller—the main hero is either the athletic and intelligent guy, or the coolly intelligent, slightly older reluctant hero type. Prentiss would survive because she's the older, brainy, attractive female."

"Thanks, Spence. So I'm the nerdy girl, and JJ is the—"

"Cheerleader." Morgan and Emily finished together, laughing at JJ's indignant snort.

"There's nothing wrong with being a nerd, Em. Apparently, nerds survive the longest." Rossi said around a yawn and a laugh. "So what would I be, kid?"

"You're ambiguous, Dave." Spencer said enthusiastically, "Either you're the villain or the last good guy to die. Older, supposedly wiser, you'll prove indispensible and will die saving the heroine from the villain. Or you're the villain whom she'd need saving from."

"What kind of movie is this again—couldn't she just save herself? It would be a whole lot less trouble." Emily asked. Hotch could hear a slight laugh beneath her words.

"Only on Lifetime Movie Network." JJ said, snottily. Emily laughed fully, then.

"Shut up, cheerleader. You're already gone, remember. You didn't even make it ten minutes past opening credits."

"Yeah, but apparently you have to depend on either Hotch or Morgan to save your helpless ass, nerd." JJ shot back in a whisper.

Hotch listened to the teasing, more than a little nonplused. Did the two women always rib each other this way? If so, he was extremely surprised. JJ had never warmed to Elle that way. What else had he missed in the last year or so?

"Who says a movie needs a hero? No, I think I'll save my own ass—no offense, Derek or Hotch." Emily squirmed around again, and Hotch had an inkling of what she'd be like asleep. She hadn't been still for more than thirty seconds since laying down on the hay beside him. "At least then _I'd _control any variables."

"None taken, chick." Derek said. "You're too much trouble for me to baby-sit a whole movie, anyway! So stubborn you'd probably find trouble just to spite me. Fall off a cliff or something."

"You'd be lucky to be my hero, Derek, and you know it. I'd probably end up saving your ass on more than a few occasions." Emily said. "So, tell me, Reid. If Dave is the villain—or the last to die—JJ is long gone, either Hotch or Derek and I survive…what about you and whomever is not the hero? What about Garcia?"

"Garcia would most likely go right before Rossi—as a good guy--because her technical skills will come in handy to the hero/heroine. I'd probably be after JJ. Wonder into an incredibly stupid, and dangerous situation and the hero/heroine would narrowly miss saving me. As for Morgan or Hotch—non-hero—he'd probably go about midway through the movie. But only after he'd been mistaken for the villain. It will be a particularly brutal death as well." Spencer explained. "But this is only a movie, after all."

"But Emily would survive." JJ snickered. "How unfair."

"Get over it, Barbie. We nerds are entitled to something, too. Especially from you cheerleaders. " Emily said, yawning, as she leaned inadvertently toward Hotch's radiating warmth. For such a cold man, he sure gave off a lot of heat. And Emily hated to be cold. "Good night, JJ, everybody. I'm going to sleep now."

"Good night, Em." JJ said. "Good thing we're not fictional characters, huh?"

"Sleep, JJ, Emily." Hotch ordered finally, sensing the two women would chatter all night if they could. Morgan and Reid were already out.

Five minutes later he learned exactly what JJ meant about Emily kicking like a mule. She would move a bit and settle, and he'd relax, then she'd move an arm or a leg, or her head. He knew he'd most likely be awake all night—and bruised in the morning. Every time she moved, she got closer to him and further away from Reid. Her hair brushed against his chin, catching on the day's worth of beard growth. It was soft and silky and smelled like her.

All of a sudden none of it mattered—the cold, the musty barn, the hay, the kicking and squirming. All that mattered was he was lying beside _her_.

Where had this sudden need come from? This was _Prentiss _for God's sakes.

"My second ex was the same way." Rossi's whisper came through the darkness, startling Hotch so that he jerked, unintentionally bumping Emily's shoulder.

He held his breath, hoping she didn't wake. When he was sure she was completely out, he replied. "What way?"

"Squirmer. Took me six months to get used to sleeping with her. By then we were headed for divorce. She had nightmares, couldn't seem to settle. I found that if I held her, pulled her against my chest, she'd go still and we could both sleep. I kind of miss that."

"I'm sorry." Hotch said, understanding exactly what the man meant. Sleeping alone after so long took a lot of getting used to.

"I know why you don't use her first name." Rossi continued, having given the matter some thought, and come to one conclusion.

"Why is that?" Hotch could hear the defensive tone in his voice.

"You're afraid of letting her get too close. And she could, much closer than JJ or anyone else. Probably even Hayley. And you know it, too. It's why you act as if you don't trust her, when in reality—it's yourself you don't trust, not around her, anyway."

"You're wrong." Hotch said.

"Really? I can't see you, but I know you're lying there beside her hoping she'll move just a little closer, close enough that you can hold her, touch her, but don't have to admit to anyone or yourself that it's because you _want _to. You're hands are clenched, your hyper vigilant, aware of her every sigh, her breath, her scent. Strawberry shampoo. I've noticed she's switched scents. I like it. You do, too. You want to touch her, are dying to touch her, but know you can't, you shouldn't. Am I right? I understand, why do you think I'm way over here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hotch denied, though everything the other man said was dead on target.

"Keep on with the denial." Rossi went on, though he could sense his friend's irritation. "But if anything I've learned from three failed marriages, Aaron. Take your chances when they are presented to you."

"Now you sound like a movie." Hotch snapped, as Emily moved even closer, almost tucking her head beneath his chin. Her knee rose and came precariously close to hitting him between the legs. It was a sure sign—to him, anyway—that she wasn't used to sleeping with someone. It inexplicably pleased him, that thought. "A Lifetime Movie."

"Good thing we're not fictional characters, isn't it." Rossi snickered as he parroted JJ's earlier question.

"Good _night, _Rossi." Hotch said, blocking his groin with one hand when Emily moved yet again, turning on her side facing Reid.

She stayed that way for a while, long after Rossi's soft snores began to fill the barn, the blanket tangled around her in what had to be an uncomfortable position. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't just leave her like that. He carefully pulled the thin blanket free, then spread it over her, tucking it around the side closest to Reid. He looked down at her, seeing the lightning flashing through the cracks in the walls, as the storm moved nearer, and reflecting off the midnight of her hair. Rossi's words about his ex trailed through his mind as she started to squirm yet again and he cautiously dropped one arm over her stomach and slowly slid her back toward him. He tucked her tightly against him and settled down behind her. It wasn't long before he relaxed enough to sleep, there curled around her, keeping her warm, keeping her safe—keeping her still.

Rossi sat up, wide awake, as he had been since his and Aaron's conversation. He looked at his friend and colleague, and then the woman sleeping tucked in his friend's arms, and he had to smile. It was the first time he could remember seeing just that look of contentment on the younger man's face and he wondered briefly just what would come out of this night.

After all, didn't movies imitate real life on occasion?

This might not be a horror movie—but it might definitely be a romance.

And he, Rossi, probably wasn't the villain after all.


	2. Chapter 3

JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH

Emily was finally relaxed. Finally had the horrific images from a North Dakota stone mill out of her head. She lay back, feeling the sun beating down on her skin, the soft sand beneath her blanket just the right firmness, the sound of the waves cresting along the beach washing away the horrific screams of a sixteen-year-old girl. Of Emily's own startled scream.

It was a perfect day.

"You look so hedonistic." Garcia snorted beside her from her own position on the blanket between her two best friends. She eyed her dark friend, taking in the curls that rioted madly, and the look of contented pleasure on the older woman's face.

"Mmmm. I feel wonderful. I'm glad you suggested this." Emily stretched her legs out, pointing her toes toward the ocean just a few yards away.

It was still a bit too cold to swim—even though the morning was unseasonably warm; the sun and the sand—and her two blonde friends—made this the most perfect escape from what had turned out to be a hellish case. It had been awful, the bodies of teenagers deliberately crushed beneath tons of thick, heavy stones. Emily herself had fallen down one of the enclaves. Had scraped her leg and bruised her hip before catching herself eighteen feet down on a root. Derek and Rossi had had to come help her up. It had not been one of her better BAU moments. But it could have been worse—it had been another twenty feet down if she'd not caught herself.

But that was in the past now. And all she had to do was stretch out on the warm sand, letting the sun kiss the skin not covered by her red bikini—that Garcia had insisted she wear special for today. JJ was in a similar pose, though her blue bikini wasn't half as revealing as Emily's. Of course, _Emily_ had just a bit more to reveal than the girl-next-door blonde. Garcia had picked out JJ's suit, too, since neither of the other two women had even owned a swimsuit. Garcia had purchased both women's suits and had simply shown up on Emily's door, before dragging her to JJ's.

Neither woman had really protested too much. So they all found themselves spread out over the sand, enjoying the completely care-free joys of Virginia Beach. No UNSUBs, no screams, no horror, just sand and sun. All day.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Hotch watched Spencer and Derek through the office window, smiling to himself as Spencer engaged in what could only be another long spiel. Derek just waved his hand in the younger man's direction, a look of impatience on his face.

Hotch doubted either man wanted to be there. Any more than he did. But the BAU's team A had to have at least three members present at any one time, and the girls had deserved the day off. Especially after North Dakota. Especially Emily.

She'd nearly given him a heart attack when she'd fallen. He'd wanted nothing more than to run to her. Make sure she was ok. Pull her up and hold her. But he knew she wouldn't welcome it, so he'd stayed back. Let Morgan swoop in to the rescue. It was always Morgan she turned to. Morgan or Dave.

But it had been _him_ she'd been curled around in North Dakota. Him she'd lain so close to. Him, who'd held her through her nightmares.

Him she'd woken up on. Him who'd seen the intense blush, the intense embarrassment, that covered her sleep-softened face. Him she'd backed away from as if scalded.

Did she really dislike him that much?

He'd woken early, long before anyone else had. The hay had been under his shirt, and he'd always had an allergy to the grass. He'd wanted nothing more than to reach back and scratch the hell out of his skin. But he couldn't. Both his arms were wrapped tightly around someone. And he'd known immediately it wasn't Hayley. He'd not slept beside her in nearly nine months—or was it ten?

He'd opened his eyes and saw dark curls. Smelled the sweet scent of strawberries. Known exactly who it was curled over his chest, her knee raised over his hip. Known exactly whose chest was pressed tightly against his side.

He'd woken up harder than he had in months. Just because his subordinate was pressed against him. _Prentiss _of all people. The one person on his team who'd confused him since the day she'd arrived. The one person he really couldn't read all that well. Whom he'd not trusted, and who'd obviously cared very little for him.

Dave had called it right—Hotch realized he had been hyper-aware, hyper-vigilant of Emily—especially since he'd separated from Hayley, and then divorced. He'd merely disguised it as being protective of his unit, his team, against whom he'd thought was a Strauss-planted mole.

He'd learned his lesson there, the day she'd informed him of her hatred for politics—and those who played them. How she'd let him know without saying a word that she considered him one of those political players. How her added _sir _had contained just enough disdain to be nearing disrespectful.

Her feelings apparently hadn't changed toward him since that day. And if he was brutally honest, it was his fault. He'd ruthlessly shunned her every overture of friendship, kept a cold shield between them that she couldn't have missed.

So she'd went in a different direction, treating him no differently than he'd treated her—all the while becoming an integral part of the team around him. It was Derek she'd trusted to climb down and get her off that drop. Rossi's instructions that she'd heard, even over Hotch's. She'd barely even acknowledged that he was there, too.

She treated him as if he wasn't even there. Just the boss she had to report to everyday, but no one special. No one she wanted to even try to get to know.

She treated him just like he'd treated her, and who could blame her?

But it had felt so good having her pressed against him. He'd laid there for nearly two hours that night—deep in the middle of the night when she'd whimpered in her sleep and he'd pulled her closer, thinking, dreaming—fantasizing. It had felt so right lying there replaying Dave's words in his head over and over as he'd stroked her back. "You're afraid of letting her get too close. And she could, much closer than JJ or anyone else. Probably even Hayley. And you know it, too. It's why you act as if you don't trust her, when in reality—it's yourself you don't trust, not around her, anyway."

Was Dave right? Was he so aloof with her because he was afraid?

What did it even matter? Nothing would come of this new… _awareness…_he had for her. Nothing could. Neither was the type to let something as base as sex interfere with their careers.

As if she'd even look in his direction. As if she'd even need to. Hotch wasn't a blind man, he'd seen the way some of the local LEOs had looked at her. Had seen the smiles, the casual brushes against her. He had no clue if she'd ever taken any of them up on their offers, but he knew there had probably been plenty. So why would she ever want someone who'd treated her the way he had? Someone with his kind of baggage? She wouldn't.

And he doubted he could ever change her mind—they weren't even anywhere close to being something as simple as friends—there was no way they could move to being lovers. His musings were interrupted by a knock and he turned to see Dave.

"Hey, Aaron. I've just finished my report on South Dakota. Hell of a case." Dave sank into the chair across from Hotch's desk and crossed one ankle over his knee. "It was a little too close. Emily could have been killed, could have died."

"I know." Hotch's face grew even more grim. "And that damned Paterson will be facing an IA board for being drunk on the job."

"If he hadn't bumped her." Rossi said. "Still, we probably shouldn't have let Derek be the one to escort him to his chief's vehicle. I heard they might file a complaint against him."

Derek had been the first one to realize the LEO was drunk. Had seen the man's hands as they'd reached for Emily. Had seen Emily move to evade the drunken groping. Had watched his friend fall over the edge of a forty foot drop.

Once they'd pulled the woman up to safety, and she was being fussed over by JJ and Rossi, Derek had went after Paterson, fists balled and ready to flay the man. Hotch had started to berate his agent until the reasons for Derek's ire had been explained to him. Hotch had then given Derek permission to lead the younger officer to the waiting squad car, and to take the long way around. They'd brought Paterson up on assault charges—and Hotch meant to see to it they stuck. Emily could have been killed, right there beside them.

And it ate at Hotch that it was Morgan who felt he had the right to defend her. Rossi who felt he had the right to fuss over her. Hotch had never been jealous of Morgan in the entire time he'd worked with the younger man. Never envied Dave in the entire time he'd known the older man. Until this case. Until he'd let himself see her as more than just a teammate, a subordinate.

And now he knew how he felt, and could do nothing about it. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"The complaint will go nowhere." Hotch said in response to Dave's words. "Paterson endangered the lives of all who were on that cliff—and could have seriously injured one of our agents."

"My heart stopped seeing her go over that edge. Seeing her face when she realized she was going to fall." Rossi admitted, his eyes trained on the younger man's face. "I don't think I breathed until we realized she was only about halfway down."

Hotch nodded, not saying anything. Her eyes had met his, and the fear was something he'd be seeing in his dreams for a long time to come.

"And then to have her calling up to Morgan, laughing about him being her hero in real life." Rossi said, "If I was ten years younger, I'd be head over heels for that woman."

"Hmm." Hotch moved to sit behind his desk. His eyes didn't meet Dave's. "It was too close."

"Scared me." Rossi leaned forward a bit. "Scared you, too."

"Yes."

"I saw your face that morning." Rossi admitted. "After you woke. Saw the way you were looking at her."

"And?" Hotch's body tensed. What was Rossi getting at? Had he been that transparent?

"And? Are you going to do something about it? Go after her?" Rossi's tone was patient, slightly patronizing. "Make a move?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're free, she's free. Both the right age, have a lot in common. It makes sense." Rossi explained. "And I know you've noticed how attractive she is."

"_She _happens to be my subordinate."

"Like that doesn't happen all the time around here. Look at Jack Malone over in Missing Persons. Don't tell me you didn't know about him and that blonde on his team a few years back, or those two agents of his, now. And it happens a lot higher on the food chain than you—or Malone. Don't let the Bureau be an excuse."

"How about the fact that she and I haven't exactly been too congenial in the time she's been here. Did you see _her _face when she woke and realized just who she was wrapped around?" Hotch informed him. "I don't think she likes me any more than she does Erin Strauss."

"And whose fault is that, Aaron? So what are you going to do about it?"

"Absolutely nothing." Hotch said, firmly, before voicing his thoughts, his fears. "What would be the point of even trying? She'd never see me as anything more than her supervisor—and one she doesn't even like, at that. And add the pressure from this job—I don't see it _ever _happening. No matter how much I might want it to."

"You, Aaron Hotchner, are a bit of a coward. But we'll leave it at that for now."

Before Hotch could retaliate, the phone on Hotch's desk rang. "Hotchner."

Both men moved to an alert-stage, knowing the call most likely signaled a new case. And half the team was missing, off doing God only knew what. Hotch disconnected the phone after saying, "We'll be there shortly. I need to gather my team."

"Where?" Rossi asked, standing.

"Virginia Beach PD. The sixth body just washed ashore. It looks to be the work of a Satanic cult." Hotch's mouth twisted, wryly. They both knew Satanic cult killings didn't exist.

"I'll grab the boys and meet you in the conference room. I'll have Derek call the girls." Rossi said as he exited Hotch's office. "And they were so looking forward to having the day off."

"That's the job." Hotch said, grimly. "We all know it."

"I know, but damn—don't they deserve a break once and a while?"

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Emily was asleep, Garcia determined. Her friend lay face down, arms pillowing her dark-head, as the sun beat down upon them. Garcia's eyes caught on the exposed skin of Emily's left hip, where the flesh was red, raw, and bruised from her nasty tumble off a cliff.

Once again, it had been too close. But Wonder Woman had persevered, and was in one piece in front of Penelope—sound asleep on the sand. The sand JJ was currently playing in.

"I always loved the beach." The younger blonde admitted, digging a little trench. "Not for the water. Just for the sand. I always wanted a sandbox—but my mother didn't think it was girly enough."

"So we don't have a sandbox—but we have Virginia Beach." Garcia said, conspiratorially.

"We're being stared at." JJ said, matter-of-factly, motioning with one sand-covered hand to a trio of men who'd been playing beach volley ball. They were in their thirties, maybe, strong, and tanned. And if JJ and Garcia weren't already taken, they might have engaged in some mild beach flirtation.

"Bet they'll come over here." Garcia said, seeing the way the men were eying their little party. "Wake Em up."

JJ shook Emily awake and the brunette semi-consciously rolled on her back, showing the trio of men exactly what had been pressed to the sand. She sat up, lazily, pushing the hair—curling wildly—off of her forehead. She looked nothing like a cool, collected professional FBI profiler in one of the top units in the country—she looked like the centerfold every male lusted after. Garcia and JJ knew she wasn't aware of it, had probably never been fully aware of it. She slid her dark glasses over her eyes and looked around. "Have I mentioned what a perfect day this is?"

"Well, we're about to have company." JJ said, snickering as the white volleyball the men had been tossing around landed a few feet from her pseudo sand-castle. Sure enough, it wasn't ten seconds before the three men were at their blanket.

But it wasn't two minutes before JJ's cell phone rang where it lay on the blanket beside her. She laughed politely at the man trying to charm her into ignoring the call. "I really need to answer this, it's probably my boss."

He smiled, flirtatiously, as the conversation around them stalled. Garcia and Emily were attempting to send the other two men packing, but they weren't exactly taking the hint as they flirted humorously, insistently.

"Jareau." JJ answered, "Hey, Dave. Hang on, let me put you on speaker."

JJ flipped the button, and Dave's voice sounded. "We have a case, and we're going to need you three in. Possible Satanic cult near Virginia Beach. How soon can you three meet us there?"

"Dammit, Dave. We're already at Virginia Beach." Emily said, sighing. Ignoring the three beach-Romeos hovering near her feet. Most of the attention had been focused on her from the get-go, ever since Garcia and JJ had admitted to the three men that they were involved. "It is our day off, you know."

"I know." Dave said, apologetically. "But it's a bit of a fiasco. Team B was already up there—and two members of the team managed to get themselves shot, and another is out with food poisoning. We've been called in to clean things up—and quickly."

"Dave. We're at the beach. No weapons, no badges." JJ told him.

Garcia snorted, looking at her two friends, as the three men wondered away in search of other prey. Nothing like women talking about cults and weapons to frighten guys off. "No clothes."

"Hell." Emily said, reminded of what she was wearing—wasn't wearing. "Dave—you'll have to stop by my place and get me some clothes. We have nothing suitable for work here with us. I have a ready-bag packed. Morgan has a key. Closet behind the front door, my gun and badge are in beside it."

"And I have a bag by my desk. My weapon and badge are in the top drawer, there's a spare key taped to the bottom of the bottom drawer." JJ added.

"Can you all meet us at the northern end of the beach? We'll call Detective Sparks and let him know we have agents in the area." Rossi said.

"Sure, but Dave—we don't have our ID's." Emily said, as she, Garcia, and JJ started gathering their beach equipment. "Make sure Sparks knows that, ok."

"We'll see you as soon as we can." Dave said before disconnecting.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia shared a look and sighed. So much for a day at the beach.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

It took Hotch, Dave, Derek and Reid three hours to get to Virginia Beach, even with sirens and police escort. It was nearly one o'clock before Hotch pulled the SUV to a stop. "Dave, find JJ and the others. Reid, Morgan, let's find Detective Sparks."

"I don't understand why we couldn't just go to the Virginia Beach police station?" Reid asked. "Why did we have to come to the beach first?"

"The location of the body is supposed to be significant—according to Sommers." Sommers was the SSAIC in charge of BAU team B. Hotch and the three men hurried down the beach, being met by a trio of LEOs.

"Agent Hotchner, I'm Detective Sparks. The body is this way." The spokesman said.

"Detective Sparks, three members of my team were supposed to meet us here." Hotch said as they approached the crowd of people at the very tip of the beach. "Where are they?"

"Agent Prentiss and her friends are with SSAIC Sommers and his men, sir. They've been waiting for your arrival." The LEO said. "Your, uh, Agent Prentiss, is not too happy. Sir."

"What the hell's going on?" Dave asked, surprised. He'd never expect to hear someone comment on _Emily's _temper. He didn't think she _had _one. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"She's fine, sir." Sparks said, giving the LEO on his left a glare when the man snorted.

Hotch's face tightened as they got closer to the crowd. As his mind played over possible scenarios that could anger Emily. Not that he actually knew _what_ would be able to provoke Agent Emily Prentiss.

"So what happened?" Dave demanded again.

"Well, there was a bit of confusion. Seems your girls don't exactly look like FBI agents and some of my men didn't realize they were authorized to be there. Until SSAIC Sommers stepped in." Sparks said, "And I want to sincerely apologize for my men, once again."

"Shouldn't you be apologizing to my agents?" Hotch asked, bending down to cross under the police tape.

"I did." The man said, not telling the BAU agent that he'd even offered dinner as an apology. The furious dark-haired beauty hadn't answered. But he'd try again before she returned to the Bureau. Sparks was nothing if not persistent.

Hotch didn't hear. He barely breathed. He didn't notice Rossi's choked laugh, Derek's awe-struck curse. Spencer's comical squeak. Didn't register his own heat-filled curse that escaped sharply, unchecked.

All he saw was dark curls and creamy skin. Red material that was barely there, and long, long legs being kissed by the worn fray of extremely short, short cut-off denim shorts. It was indecent, had to be illegal—it definitely wasn't the coolly composed ambassador's daughter he'd expected to find.

All he saw was SSA Emily Prentiss in a way he'd only hoped to see her before. But _God, _he'd never forget it.

Long, lean, trim—curved, he never would have guessed she'd had _that _hidden under those professional suits or those army fatigues she habitually wore. And she'd been pressed against him closer than skin.

He didn't even see JJ dressed in her own skimpy blue tankini, didn't even notice Garcia, dressed in a flattering green one-piece of her own where they stood beside the older agent.

All he noticed was Emily, surrounded by a good half-dozen LEOs and SSAIC Sommers and his two-man team. Men who should have been working, but…weren't.

It took him a second to start breathing again, and when he did he turned toward the other male members of his team. Rossi stood beside him, laughing his fool head off.

"Dave. We are at a murder scene." Hotch chided, irritated, angry at the way the older man's eyes hadn't left her. "Keep it in check."

Derek just stood staring, an appreciative grin on his face. He'd long suspected his teammate of being dynamite under her clothes—but seeing her in an unbelievable bikini was a bit out of his imagination. Not that he was complaining. About any one of the female members of his team. There was definitely a reason why Derek Morgan loved the beach, and this was three very clear examples of why. "Why, uh, haven't we ever gone to the beach as a team before?"

Reid just stood gawking, occasionally squeaking out a garbled name now and then. He finally was able to speak somewhat coherently. "Morgan. Duh, uh, ummm. Why are we here again?"

"Pull it together, kid." Morgan advised. "They won't appreciate _us _gawking."

Words _he_ needed to hear, Hotch thought to himself as he moved closer. He was _not _standing on some damned beach staring salaciously at his subordinate. Not. No matter how good she looked.

Or how angry.

He watched as her eyes flashed at one of Sommers' men. Watched as her shoulders stiffened—as she snapped out a comment. As she turned at JJ's direction and spotted the male members of their team.

She stalked in their direction, meeting them halfway, her sunglasses pushing the hair out of her face, and allowing him to see just how those big, dark eyes flashed.

He'd never seen her that angry before. He'd seen her coldly ruthless in interrogation, seen her stubbornly determined during a case. Seen her melancholy after a bad case. Seen her worried about a team mate in trouble. Seen her indignant after he'd accused her of having a hidden agenda. Seen her embarrassed and wary after waking in his arms. But he'd never seen her that fiery angry.

And it almost made him take a step back. Almost. "Agent Prentiss. Sorry to have to ruin your day off."

She nodded, not really looking at him. Not really acknowledging him more than required by protocol and common courtesy.

The way he'd always treated her.

She turned to Derek, who carried her ready bag slung over his shoulder. Who stood, leering comically, and grinning. "Well, Em…"

"One word, Derek Morgan. Just one word. We've already heard it, and more, in the last three damned hours." She threatened, as JJ and Garcia moved in closer to grab their own things that the men had retrieved.

"Gotcha." Derek handed her the bag, and raised his hands in surrender. But the sight was even better up close, and he had a feeling he'd never look at his friend the same way again. "Here's everything you requested."

"Finally." Emily muttered, unzipping her bag and pulling out a t-shirt and pair of pants, while JJ and Garcia did the same, Emily all the while grumbling under her breath so low that the male members of the team strained to hear. "Damned leering, juvenile, perverted, eight-handed, small-brained apes. Act like they've never seen a female before. Are they all horny idiots in Virginia Beach? Acting like damned adolescents."

Hotch's brows rose, but she didn't see. She pulled the shirt over her head quickly, all the while mumbling curses and invectives, ending with "Can't even enjoy one lousy day at the beach. One lousy damned day. Son of a bitch."

Derek turned around, back facing the women, as Garcia and JJ—as well as Emily—quickly dressed in more work-appropriate attire. Derek laughed, egging Emily's rant on. She continued, adding in a bit about laughing monkeys who thought ogling apes were funny, and if they didn't watch it, they'd get what they deserved. Dave burst out laughing as well.

Hotch looked at Rossi, his surprise showing, and the older man just laughed all the harder. Rossi ignored the glare the woman sent his way. His words were thrown over his shoulder as he turned around to give the women a modicum of privacy."Sorry to ruin your day, Emily. So what did Sparks have to apologize for?"

If possible, Emily's face got even darker as she dropped the denim shorts right there in the midst of the team, not giving them any more warning. Hotch hadn't the time to turn around, and then he didn't think to. He nearly swallowed his tongue and he heard Reid's sharp intake of breath. The boy hadn't turned around quick enough, either, and had seen more of his colleague than he'd ever expected to see.

Her swimsuit bottom was slightly more decorous than Hotch would have expected from the daring cut of the top—such that it was, and was covered quickly as she pulled on the dark fatigues. He was vaguely aware of JJ's own striptease beside her, but it wasn't the younger woman who'd caused him to nearly sink to his knees. Soon, the only thing left for Emily to don was her gun belt and shoes and socks, which she made quick work of, using Rossi's helping hand as a balance. It took maybe two minutes for her to go from goddess of the bikini to professional agent. The longest two minutes of Hotch's life. "You can all turn around, now."

And she didn't even act as if she knew he—they—were even there. As if she'd not noticed that of all the men—he hadn't turned around at all. Had watched the entire show. As if having him there didn't matter. As if he was a cold, sexless, robot that she didn't even care saw her.

As if he was nobody important. No one worth being concerned over.

And he wasn't. He was just her boss, the supervisor she was required to report to. Not a friend like Morgan, like Rossi, Reid, Garcia, or JJ. Just the boss she didn't even like, didn't even acknowledge, didn't even notice.

And that put an end to any fantasy he may have had lurking beneath his skin since the North Dakota barn, about him and her in a much more than superior-subordinate relationship.

Dave had been wrong. Hotch might have been developing feelings for her—or at least a good, healthy dose of lust—but Emily Prentiss would never reciprocate those feelings.

Today just proved that.

And he'd just have to live with it.


	3. Chapter 4

EMILY'S MR. RIGHT

MID MAY 2008

"Mr. Right." Emily paused a moment, contemplating the endless wisdom found at the bottom of a half empty beer bottle. It was the same bar they'd been in before—the night FBI agent Brad tried to pick her up over a year ago. She'd known right away _he _wasn't her Mr. Right. Still, here they were again. Contemplating romance. Sometimes JJ and Garcia were relentless—and Emily's sex life seemed to be a topic they both found fascinating.

Not that Emily agreed. Her sex life was one of the least fascinating subjects she'd ever known.

"Come on, chickie. What is your Mr. Right like? Every woman has at least a vague idea." Garcia said, leaning in. The black and white feather in her hair pointed to the sky and with her platinum blond hair she was such an opposite of the dark headed woman sitting across from her that the bar's other patrons were taken aback to see them all together. Add in sweet, girl-next-door JJ and the sight was so enigmatic that they were bound to garner looks—especially from the bar's male patrons.

They were used to stares, both on the job and off, so they paid them little mind.

"Come on, Em. Spill." JJ said, laughing at the uncomfortable look on the older woman's face. Emily was one of the most secretive people JJ knew—and considering where she worked, that said something. JJ wasn't a profiler but she'd learned a lot from those who were. This little insight into Emily would potentially explain a lot.

"Tall." Emily said, cryptically.

"Something besides physical." Garcia said, leaning forward even more.

"Dark."

"Let me guess—and handsome?" JJ snickered, sipping her ginger ale. She'd volunteered as designated driver, and one hand slipped beneath the table to rest on the reason why. She'd yet to tell her friends.

"Older."

"How much?" Garcia asked, actually taking out a PDA to take notes. How else was she supposed to find Prentiss a man if she didn't know what her friend wanted?

"What the hell are you doing?" Emily squeaked.

"Taking notes, chickie. I'm doing a random study of attraction. Didn't I tell you?" She strove to look as innocent as possible.

Emily didn't buy it. "Five to ten years. Someone with maturity, but not social security."

"Ooh, good one." JJ said. Sometimes she forgot Emily was considerably older than she. She certainly didn't look it.

"A natural leader, but not overbearing." Emily didn't know why she continued, but these were her closest friends, so what could it hurt?

"Tall, dark, and alpha. Gotcha." Garcia said, stylus flying over her small LCD screen.

"Composed. I don't want a high strung person."

"Okkkk." Garcia drew the syllable out. "Stable."

"Responsible, caring, intelligent, understanding," Emily was giving this some serious consideration. "He'd have to understand politics and be able to handle it, but I do not want a politician."

"Tall, dark, wise to the game. Keep going." JJ said, tapping her fingers as her mind ran through all of the men that met Prentiss's dream man's profile. Her mind kept focusing on two that she knew well, although one was slightly out of the mentioned age range. Still, that left one possibility…

"Not overly effusive, but with depth. Someone who understands the human mind—and what we do."

Emily sighed, leaning back in her chair. She knew what she'd described was next to impossible to find. Maybe her standards were too exacting.

"Someone successful who would understand the need for me to be gone with the job so often, and that it is possibly a dangerous job." She remembered the last relationship she'd had, approximately six months after she'd first joined the BAU. When she'd been injured on the job—the case with the dying father using his son to lure women to their deaths—he'd lit out like his trousers were on fire. She hadn't heard from him since. "But not necessarily someone in law enforcement, just one with a clear understanding of what we do—and who doesn't mind being unconsciously profiled. At all times."

"Ok. Tall, dark, handsome, older, alpha, leader, emotionally deep, understanding, intelligent, political know-how, and accustomed to profilers. Want much?" Garcia said, pushing buttons furiously.

"I know. Completely impossible to find." Emily's sigh was filled with such dejection that the two blond women patted her hands comfortingly.

"Not impossible, chickie, just rare." Garcia said.

"Ummm." JJ began, not really knowing how to make the suggestion. The man she'd thought of probably hadn't ever occurred to Emily. The two hadn't exactly become the best of friends since Emily'd joined the team.

"What, baby girl? You know someone who fits the bill?" Garcia's voice rose slightly with her excitement.

"Well. Um, Em?" JJ was unusually reticent. "You do realize, don't you…"

"What? Realize what?" Emily was completely clueless as to what the younger woman was thinking.

"You do realize that your Mr. Right…well…you just described…"

"Who?" Garcia and Emily nearly shouted, drawing the attention of most of the nearby customers, though the others couldn't hear what the women were discussing.

The four men at the table nearly thirty feet away looked at the colleagues, and smiles touched their faces. Rossi, Reid, Morgan, and Hotch all paused a moment and watched the three women of their team engaged in what could only be an intense discussion.

"Wonder what their talking about so intently?" Rossi wondered aloud, before the men went back to their conversation about the latest case.

"Probably just girl talk…who's dating whom, etc." Morgan said, recognizing the looks on their faces from similar expressions he'd seen on his younger sisters' throughout the years.

"Glad they're having a good time. Since they're day at the beach was ruined." Hotch murmured, watching one particular woman's face. He'd watched her a lot lately, trying to read her. Know what she was thinking. All because he'd woken with her held tight in his arms, in a North Dakota barn. Had it only been four nights ago? What a difference a day could make. Or four, in this case.

"Yeah. But I wonder what they are talking about." Morgan said, watching the play of surprise and shock flit across Emily's face.

"I don't know, but I am not brave enough to go ask." Reid said decisively as the four men turned back to their own conversation.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia were completely unaware of the men's attention, and the latter two were about ready to strangle their younger colleague.

"JJ…who?" Garcia demanded, dropping her stylus to the table and grabbing JJ's sleeve and pulling her toward her.

"Well…Em, you just described your perfect man as being…Just… Like…Hotch." JJ finally said, not missing the surprised looks on the other two women's faces.

"What? Oh? Oh, son of a bitch…" Emily laid her head on the table beside her beer, and shook it back and forth. It was true, so true. Sadly true. Of all the men in the world, why did the one she described sound just like the coldly aloof superior she didn't even like? She felt the commiserating pats on her back from her friends but it didn't matter. She looked up at them before continuing. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yep." Garcia said, looking over toward the man in question. "You described him perfectly. So what are you gonna do about that?"

"Absolutely nothing. Maybe he sounds like that—but you're forgetting one little bitty thing—Hotch and I aren't exactly close. So it ain't gonna happen. You two aren't going to say a word. Remember, I am the senior agent here, and I can—and will—make you both disappear."

"Un huh. Empty threats." Garcia winked.

"Veiled promises, my friend. Promises."


	4. Chapter 5

FOR NOW AND FOREVER

LATE MAY 2008

David Rossi wanted to hit his friend. Hit him squarely on the back of his head—or give him a swift kick in the behind. What was Aaron Hotchner thinking?

Last week the team had been stranded in North Dakota and had been forced to bunk down in an old barn. They'd slept crammed together in an old horse stall on a pile of hay. Aaron had held Emily so close, Rossi had been convinced the other man had finally figured things out. Figured out that he should just go for it with Emily. And the way he'd stared at the dark-eyed beauty on a sandy beach just hours later had convinced Rossi Hotch's feelings had been cinched tight.

Instead, the man had barely looked at the pretty dark haired agent once that British piece of work had come strolling out of her office in the New York building. Sure, the woman resembled Hayley—on the outside. On the inside she was just another career-powered ladder climber. She'd wanted something from Aaron—and Rossi'd known it had something to do with Derek. Rumor had it they were considering him for her spot if she failed to find these shooters.

Aaron had been all over Joyner like a groupie on a rock star. Rossi wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Emily, JJ, and Garcia had been exchanging looks of speculation.

Rossi'd wondered then if Emily ever even fully realized her own feelings for the man, as her gorgeous dark eyes had lingered on Hotch as he'd leaned over Joyner's shoulder. Lingered just a little too long.

If Rossi thought she'd ever look at him that way—he'd trample right over his long time friend to get to her.

He watched the exchange between Joyner and Hotchner through the glass window of the office and he sighed. Knowing he was going to have to have another frank discussion with the younger man. Emily deserved Hotch to be one way or the other.

If he wanted her—he needed to realize it. If not—he needed to stop acting so _drawn _to her.

Rossi had to admit it, Emily Prentiss was probably the one person in the BAU that he couldn't read clearly. Spencer, Morgan, JJ, Garcia, even Hotchner—they were all clear to Rossi. But Emily played it so close to her chest, never let anything slip to her coworkers. How did she feel about Hotchner?

Rossi would try to figure it out.

Hotch left Joyner's office and entered the men's restroom and Rossi made his decision—and his move. He checked carefully to ensure no one else was in the restroom before turning the lock on the door. "Aaron. What the hell are you doing?"

"Dave?" Hotch asked, surprised, though his voice barely changed. "I'm washing my hands. Does that surprise you?"

"I meant with that Joyner woman." Rossi said.

"She's a close friend."

"No, she's a carbon copy of your ex-wife." Rossi accused. "Three days ago you were all wrapped around Agent Prentiss. And you looked happy, man. Happier than you have since my return."

"That just happened. She was seeking warmth and we rolled together unconsciously." Hotchner said, getting defensive.

"You weren't asleep when you wrapped your arms around her." Rossi argued. "You were fully aware of your actions, and don't deny it. At least not to yourself."

"Whom I am attracted to isn't really your business, Dave." Hotch said, more furious with his friend then he'd ever been. Even though Dave was right.

"Admitted, it's not. But you are one of my closest friends. Hell, you're one of my few friends. That's why I am telling you. Quit looking to your past. Do you know what I wouldn't give for a woman who actually understood what we did every day? And you've got one right there in front of you! One who's sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving—who is virtually crying out for a special kind of man. Yet you're choosing a woman who looks like your ex-wife. What does that tell you about you?" Rossi said, heatedly. "You're insane if you let her go!"

"What's between Prentiss and myself is strictly professional. I admire her capabilities as an agent." Hotch said, even though he knew Rossi knew the truth.

"You're a liar. And worse, you know it. We've four failed marriages between us Aaron—and four women who didn't understand a damned thing about this job. If she'd look at me the way she looks at you, just once…I'd tell the bureau to screw it's fraternization rules and take her to Aruba. Or my cabin. She likes the woods, doesn't she?"

"I don't know what to do." Hotch admitted softly. "The man who was with Hayley was a different man than the one I am today. Twenty-one years ago, Dave. I've been with one woman for more than two decades, and now I don't know where to even begin—if I even should begin."

"First, stop shutting her out." Rossi said, leaning a hip on the granite sink. "Out there today, you barely acknowledged her. Pretty much just handed her over to Detective Cooper. You barely even introduced her to Agent Joyner. And—you still insist on calling her Prentiss, when every other member of the team—with the exception of Garcia who prefers her last name—you use their first names. You know she's noticed, yet you do it anyway. And I heard how she joined the unit. That has to add up for her. Give the woman a break. Take a chance and actually try to get to know her."

"I know her."

"No, you don't. You don't know that she likes Kurt Vonnegut, that she named her cat after him. That she visits friends in New York every free chance she gets, and she likes to escape to the parks and woods when things get too tough. You don't know that she walks to the playground after we have terrible cases involving children, just so she can see kids not touched by the monsters she goes and dreams about every night. You don't know that Garcia sees her as something like Wonder Woman, JJ sees her as the big sister she never had—you don't let yourself see how she mother's Spencer, how Morgan treats her like his best friend, and you don't see how whenever _you _have a bad day, she's the person right beside you."

"You know her that well? In what, the four months you've been with the team?" Hotch said, defensively. He knew what Rossi said was true, all of it. But he hadn't realized his friend's feelings ran that deep. Or that Rossi had noticed that much about Emily.

"Yes. She's told me." Rossi said. "Because I talk to her. Because I watch the team, watch her. She just _fits _here, Hotch. She'd fit with you, too. Probably much better than Hayley ever did. Let me ask you something. When you would go home to Hayley, did you have to turn your work self off, and your family self on? Did you feel like you had to be two different men? Imagine going home with Emily, Hotch. You wouldn't have to be two men. She'd understand both. You'd be free to be both at the same time. You know how stupid you'd be to turn that away?"

Aaron thought about his words long after they'd left the restroom, going about their business of solving the case. The case was proving just as frustrating as his feelings. Was Rossi right? Had he missed seeing something there with Emily? Had he even looked that close since the divorce? At all?

They worked well together, their styles were extremely complimentary. Would that translate into a personal relationship, as well?

Rossi had surprised him, all the information he'd gleaned about Emily after only four months. When had she gotten a cat? He'd not seen signs of a pet when they'd been on the Joseph Smith case. What else did Rossi know about Emily that he didn't?

Had he even let himself stop to observe anything about her since the day she'd first showed up in the BAU? He could honestly say that he didn't think he had.

The day passed too quickly, with yet another murder. Derek had been right—but he'd been out of line to voice his opinions the way he had. Even though Hotch could sense the rest of the team felt the exact same way. The next day, saw everyone on the streets in pairs, Hotch included.

Then everything hit the shit. He'd never forget how his blood had frozen when Emily's voice had came over the radio, saying they were in pursuit of the suspect. She was out there with Detective Cooper, a man he didn't know, chasing after at least one of their seven suspects.

Then he'd heard the fear and panic in her voice as she called for backup, called an officer down call. He'd heard her voice through the radio, button still depressed, as she told Cooper to think of his wife and family. Told him to hold on. Told him to stay with her.

All Hotch could think about once he'd arrived on scene was that if _Emily _had rounded the corner ahead of Cooper, it would have been her blood at his feet. Just like all he'd been able to think about a few days ago was how her body would have looked if she had fallen completely off a North Dakota cliff. About how they could have lost her. _He_ could have lost her.

And he hadn't even known she'd had a cat.

He didn't want her life to be such a mystery to him. Not any longer.

The rest of the day was tense, everyone worried about Cooper. Emily was the first to figure it out, her and Rossi. Figured out what it meant, how the UNSUBs were gauging response times. The only bright spot was when JJ'd told everyone her news earlier.

At least someone on his team had found happiness.

He accepted Kate's invitation for dinner out of politeness. Since the earlier shooting, and his fear for his agent, he just didn't want to look at the woman who looked like Hayley.

Not with Emily's voice ringing in his ears. Emily's wounded eyes staring at the body of the young man she'd killed filling his mind.

He hadn't even asked her how she was doing. Kate had distracted him, claiming she needed his invaluable assistance.

So he'd left Emily to Morgan's care. He knew Morgan would see that she was ok, Morgan and Rossi. She was close to them.

He opened the door for Agent Joyner, led her to her SUV. He wondered briefly where Agent Prentiss had ended up for the night. If she was alone or with Morgan or Garcia. Why was it that he was just now noticing how _alone _Emily was?

Dave Rossi watched Hotchner and the British woman as they walked out of the building just slightly ahead of him. Had his words meant nothing to Hotchner?

Dave had honestly thought Hotch would have been with Emily. She'd had one horrible day, had watched a guy she'd obviously liked and respected nearly bleed to death at her feet. She'd taken the life of a kid half her age. That was never easy. Dave made up his mind then and there—Hotchner didn't deserve Emily Prentiss.

And Emily Prentiss didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life alone. She needed a man who understood exactly what she saw each and every day. Someone she could talk to about anything. Someone like… David Rossi.

Dave climbed into his SUV, determined to find Emily and make sure she was ok. She shouldn't be alone after a day like today. No one should.

He turned the key. And the world exploded.

ROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSI

Aaron's mind was completely blank. The horror of the last hours had numbed him completely. He'd pulled one of his closest friends from a burning vehicle. The bandages on his hands were proof of that. And now they all sat, waiting. Waiting like they had for Elle and Penelope.

Someone touched his shoulder, lightly, reassuringly, before moving past him. He looked up to see it was Emily. She dropped to her knees in front of JJ, checking her friend closely, before handing her a box of juice from a vending machine. She smiled at Will, sitting beside JJ and holding the younger blonde close.

She moved to Morgan and Garcia next. The blonde woman sat, holding on to her reserve with everything she had. She always hated it when one of _her _super agents were hurting. And now they just didn't know.

Reid was a bundled mass of nerves. He couldn't sit still, his face paler than Emily had ever seen it—with one exception. She rubbed his shoulders softly. Handed him the pretzels she'd found in the vending machine. To Morgan she handed a cup of steaming coffee.

Then she was gone.

No one really noticed she'd left.

She entered the waiting room of the floor below the burn unit. Checking with the New York detectives waiting on news of Cooper's condition. His wife and child waited tensely, and her heart just broke seeing that little boy with his daddy's eyes.

She spent less than five minutes in that waiting room.

Then it was back up to the burn unit. She was outside the unit when she heard someone ask in a worried voice about David Rossi.

Emily approached the man, struck at the physical resemblance between him and David. This must be the younger brother.

"Hello. You must be Dave's brother." Emily said, walking up to the man. He was younger than Dave, closer in age to her than his brother. Any other time he would have been a handsome man, but worry shadowed his brown eyes. "I'm SSA Prentiss. I work with your brother."

"You're Emily? I'm Steven Rossi. David's youngest brother. Dave's mentioned you." The man turned toward her. "How is he?"

"We don't know. He was pulled from the vehicle. He, uh, wasn't conscious. We're waiting. If you'd like to come inside, the team is gathered." Emily placed a hand on the man's arm as he moved toward the glass door to the Burn Unit.

The man hesitated. "I'm not sure I want to go in there."

"I know. I didn't either." Emily admitted, knowing that the man would appreciate her frankness. "But it helps. Being with people who care, too."

"Dave speaks of you—and the team—every time he comes up." Steven said, abruptly. "About how you've accepted him."

"He's a part of the team." Emily said. "And he's a friend."

"Thanks." Steven said, "My brother will be the first to admit he doesn't have many of those."

ROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSI

Hotch was aware of Emily leaning over him, of her carefully placing a mug of coffee in the hand that he hadn't burnt. He didn't even look up at her, didn't speak. Didn't acknowledge. Just knew she was there.

Agent Joyner was in the corner, talking a mile a minute on her cell phone. Part of Aaron just wished she would take it outside.

Emily handed Will La Montaigne a blanket and he draped it over a sleeping JJ's shoulders. Morgan did the same with Garcia, with the blanket Emily handed him. She tossed a candy bar his way, and ordered him to eat it in a soft, hushed voice.

She took Reid's sixth cup of coffee away, and handed him a hardback copy of the Historian she'd found in the first floor lobby. It would take him less than three minutes to read it—but maybe it would distract him from his worry, momentarily.

She'd checked on Cooper's condition fifteen minutes earlier, and was reassured that he'd made it through surgery. One less worry.

She'd even answered Hotch's cell phone and spoken to his ex-wife. She'd somehow heard a member of the team had been injured and had been worried it was her son's father. Emily had told her all she knew, and Hayley had thanked her—after bidding her to take care of Aaron.

She'd made it a point to speak to Rossi's brother every so often. Just so he knew he wasn't alone in his worry for his brother.

Emily was exhausted. But she couldn't sit still. Couldn't sit there and wait with no purpose. Waiting like that always made her angry.

She stood again. The only one who looked up was Kate Joyner. Emily was liking the British agent even less by the minute. She'd shown no real concern for anyone—especially Dave. Emily wondered why she was even there. No one on the team had spoken to her. No one seemed to even care that she was there. Not even Hotchner. He just sat, staring at his hands.

She was just thankful he'd been there to pull Dave from the SUV. If he hadn't—they wouldn't be sitting there waiting for the news, one way or another.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, wrapping her slender fingers around his un-bandaged wrists. She squeezed lightly until he looked at her. "Do you need anything, sir?"

He shook his head, and she wondered if he even realized who was talking to him. She smiled softly, and placed the juice box in his hand. "Drink it. It's strawberry banana."

The man loved strawberries.

She waited a moment, making sure he did as she ordered, before standing and leaving the unit once again.

Only one person even noticed she'd left—again.

ROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSI

William La Montaigne hated this. He hated waiting for news about a Law Enforcement Agent wounded in the line of duty. Hated it even more when the poor bastard was somebody he knew. JJ was sleeping, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead before moving slightly, sliding her down to rest fully on the bench.

He needed to move around, shake his legs some.

He followed the path of the dark headed woman, almost haphazardly. He wasn't payin' much attention to where he was goin.

He found her in the chapel, but he didn't enter. She was a bit aloof with him, he wasn't as comfortable around her as he was some of the other team members.

But he had an idea of who should be with her. He just wondered if the man in question knew it.

He'd watched the team, watched how she'd taken care of everyone in the waiting room. How very few had thanked her—had even been aware of what she was doing.

Oh, they all cared about each other. Will knew that. It was just that they all handled stress and fear in different ways—they all apparently had a tendency to withdraw into themselves at difficult times. And he had a feeling Agent Prentiss was a charter member of the 'leave me alone' club.

He turned and headed back to the unit, detouring at the men's restroom first.

The man in question stood staring at himself in the mirror when Will entered.

"Agent Hotchner." Will acknowledged.

"Will." His voice was flat. He didn't feel up to making small talk.

"Don't take this the wrong way. I know you're JJ's boss and all. And I don't want to make any trouble." Will began.

"What are you talking about?" Hotch asked, still in that same flat voice. If Will was a lesser man, he'd have backed down quickly.

"One of your agents needs you." Will said. "She's had one hell of a bad day. Don't you think? First firing on a suspect. That one detective being shot. And now Agent Rossi."

"Agent Prentiss?" Hotch asked, surprised. Where was Emily, anyway? He tried to remember if he'd even seen her since they'd arrived at the Burn Unit.

"Yes, Agent Prentiss." Will said, almost struck dumb at the man's apparent cluelessness. "She's spent the last six hours taking care of almost every person in that waiting room. Can you say you honestly don't remember?"

"Has she?" Hotch murmured. He had to admit he'd not paid attention to much of anything to know what had been going on around him. They'd given him one hell of a shot of something when they'd fixed up his hands in the ER. He wasn't that clear on anything at the moment.

"Brought you coffee, juice. Brought blankets. Talked with Agent Rossi's brother. Checked on that detective, fed Dr. Reid." Will listed. "Talked to _your _ex-wife, even."

"Hayley? She called?"

"I guess. Agent Prentiss told her you were fine, that we were waiting on news about Agent Rossi. She promised to call her when any news came." Will told him, revising his earlier opinion of the team leader. Maybe he was just in shock and not a total cold fish. JJ had always talked warmly about the older man. But Will didn't really see it. "She also talked to your section chief and several others who'd called your phone."

"And you're telling me this because?" Hotch asked, softly.

"Because your Agent Prentiss is all alone in the chapel crying." Will said, bluntly. "She's spent all day taking care of everyone around her. When you all should have been helping _her. _She killed a man today—she has to be thinking about that. Over and over. Playing it again in her mind. Thinking there could have been something done differently. Don't you think that she deserves just a few minutes of your time?"

Hotch looked at him intensely for a moment, and Will braced himself for a harsh ripping. It never came.

Hotch looked away then before speaking. "Thank you for telling me, Detective La Montaigne."

"Anytime, Agent Hotchner."

ROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSI

Hotchner peered through the glass door leading into the chapel. Prentiss sat facing the front, her body limp and dejected. He opened the door soundlessly and approached her. He sank onto the small bench beside her without saying a word.

"Everyone was wondering where you'd gone." He told her. He shifted so his shoulder pressed against hers. She tensed.

"You're lying." She said softly. "But that's ok. That's the way we are. We close down. Shut the doors on all we can't deal with—so that we _can _deal with the horrors we see every day. How're your hands?"

"Hurting. The shot they gave me is wearing off." He said, equally as quiet. "I didn't want to forget to thank you for what you've done since we got here."

"It was nothing. I couldn't just sit, sir." She leaned back with a sigh. "I, uh, talked to your ex-wife. You'll need to call when we're given an update."

"Thank you for that. I don't even remember the phone ringing."

"It did, several times. I handle this kind of thing better when I have something to do, sir."

"Prentiss. I think you can stop _sirring _me all the time, don't you? Nobody else is that formal."

"Nobody else is always addressed by their last name, either, _sir._ Makes things clear._" _

"I wasn't even aware I did that. I didn't mean anything by it." He was being more open and frank with her than he ever had in their entire acquaintance.

"Why is that? That you did—do it?" Emily asked. She'd still not looked at him. Didn't want him to see the tears on her face. Not him.

"Just habit."

"Because you don't think I belonged on the team."

"If I didn't, would I have fought you on your resignation?" Hotch asked. He boldly wrapped the hand with the least amount of bandages around her much smaller one. Her hand was small, bony, and slightly cold. Fragile. Trembling. "Don't ever doubt for a moment how important you are to this team."

"Hmm."

"Look at what you did tonight. You took care of us all. Mothered Reid, took over for me when I couldn't function. Handled Rossi's family. Made sure JJ took care of herself. You're part of the heart of this team. You and Garcia. You know that, right?"

"For someone who hates politics, you've got a glib tongue." Her voice was flatter than he'd ever heard it, and he _hated _it. Emily was always the voice of reason, the eternal optimist. The one never defeated.

"I'm not sugar-coating, Emily. Just look at Reid." Hotch said, earnestly. "You two worried me for a bit, I'll admit it. I thought you'd never work out what it was between you. Until I realized you weren't letting him pull his bull with you. You called him on it, didn't you? Now, the first person he runs to when he needs something is you. It used to be Gideon. You're important to him. To all of us."

"You're all my family, sir."

"Aaron. My name is Aaron."

"I know. But I'm not comfortable calling you that." Emily said, being as brutally honest as she could. She just didn't have the strength or the will to sugar coat. Not after the day she'd had.

"I haven't exactly been the most welcoming, have I?" Aaron sighed, his fingers tightening around hers. "I do apologize for that. All I can say is the last year or so of my life has been one of the hardest I've ever faced. I think I let that leak a little in the office."

"Compartmentalizing isn't always easy, is it?" She asked. "Some people do it better than others."

"And I haven't been very good at it, this year. When Dave's back on his feet, when this case is over—will you let me make it up to you?"

"All I ask is you respect me on the job. And you do that." Emily told him, flatly. "I don't expect anything more than that."

"So we can't be friends, then?"

"I don't know." Emily said, puzzled at the whole conversation. "What would we even talk about?"

"I don't know." He echoed, laughing softly. "What do we really even know about each other?"

"I have a cat." Emily said. "I've named him Kurt."

Before Aaron could reply, Spencer came running in. "The doctor will be out in ten minutes to give us an update. I need to go to the restroom, and you need to get up there. But he's alive, and he'll be ok."

Spencer ran out before they could respond. Emily's breath shuddered out and she surprised them both by bursting into tears.

Aaron wrapped her tight in his arms and held her while she cried for her friend, and probably for the boy she'd killed—even though he'd been a terrorist—and for Detective Cooper, whom he'd known she'd liked a great deal.

He held her, hand wrapped in long dark hair that smelled of strawberries and Emily, while she cried.

"It'll be ok, Emily. I promise." He whispered reassurances over and over until she calmed. Kate Joyner and her resemblance to Hayley—and Hayley herself—never even entered his mind.

In that instant, in that _now, _as her head rested beneath his chin, he would have moved the world to keep that promise to her. To protect her from everything, forever.

COUNT ON ME

LATE MAY 2008

Hotch didn't even undress before crashing on the bed. All that mattered was that Dave was going to live. Thoughts of calling Hayley, Strauss, and the various other's who'd called his phone in the last nine hours never even entered his mind.

All he wanted to do was sleep and forget about what he'd seen. How Dave had looked at him when he'd ran up to his side. Saw his friend overcome by the heat and smoke before he could get the door opened.

Thank God the window had been blown out. Thank God Dave hadn't fastened his seatbelt. Thank God he'd been able to pull Dave out before the man had been more seriously injured. Dead.

As it was, the older man was facing weeks of painful healing and therapy. He'd never be physically the same again—but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

The burns on Hotch's hands were a small price for him to pay for his friend's life.

His head hit the utilitarian pillow that was characteristic of all generic hotel rooms, and he closed his eyes, praying he wouldn't see the flames again.

Instead, big, dark eyes popped into his mind. They were soft and vulnerable, tear-filled, and frightened.

He never wanted to see them like that again.

He'd held her tonight, felt her trembling as she cried.

Realized for the first time that Emily wasn't the consummate agent, perfectly composed at all times, able to handle all things that came her way, that he'd thought her to be.

Instead, she was just like him. She chose to find a quiet corner before she broke down. She felt she had to hide any weakness from the team—from him. Felt that she always had to be strong in order to belong to the team. Never show weakness, never need someone to lean on.

At least—never show it to him, not to him.

He remembered overhearing her and Dave talk on the plane about life once, about how it was a terrible thing to happen to a person. Heard her talking to Derek about thinking like monsters. Heard her talk to JJ about having children someday. Heard JJ tell her it would be a good idea. He'd heard her ask Spencer after the rocket trick if _Hotch _actually did have a sense of humor.

After that one case, her attempt to talk to him about taking that teenage girl home with her, she'd never tried to share anything _personal_ with him. And it was his fault.

All of it.

In retrospect, his behavior was perfectly clear to him. His mistrust, his antagonism, his cold severity to her—all of it shouted how uncomfortable they'd made each other from the very beginning. Tonight had made that even more than perfectly clear. She'd crept away to the hospital chapel to sit and cry, alone, separate from the team.

Most likely away from _him. _He'd known, just seeing her all alone and vulnerable, that _he _was the one responsible for keeping them from knowing each other.

All Emily Prentiss wanted from him was respect on the job. Her words, calm, resigned, slightly defensive if you knew what to look for. She'd basically told him she didn't even know if she wanted to be his friend.

That had disconcerted him, at first. Then she'd cried, harder than he'd ever imagined she could. Clinging to _him. _Depending on _him. _Her body pressed so tightly against _him. _Again. The man she didn't even want as a friend.

All she'd been through that day flashed through his mind. She'd shot that kid, she'd been scared for Detective Cooper, she'd been worried and terrified for Dave—someone she'd apparently been growing pretty close to over the last few months—and how could he expect her to just be able to deal with all that with no help from anyone? Instead, she'd taken care of the rest of them.

Had he really cared that little about how she'd felt?

And her—did she really think that the only value she brought to the team besides her mind was the care she took of everyone else? Had _he _made her feel that way so much that it was now ingrained? When had anyone else ever realized that _Emily_ needed someone to lean on once and a while, too?

Hotch couldn't remember ever seeing her vulnerable until today. Not even when she'd went over a Dakotan cliff, and had been clinging to the edge of it before Morgan pulled her up.

Even that bastard Joseph Smith hadn't gotten her down—she'd been injured, yes, but she'd done her job. And he'd admired that. Admired that she'd willingly walked into that house alone. Admired the fact that she'd stood her ground with all of Strauss's machinations, as well.

He'd seen her worried, too. Worried about Reid, Penelope, even worried about JJ. But she'd always done whatever she had to do help them. Just like tonight. He thought about how she'd cared for all of them in the waiting room. How Dave's brother would only speak to her, how she'd sat and held his hand after the doctors had told them Dave was going to be all right. How Penelope and JJ had both cried, clinging to Emily tightly.

He wondered if the team even realized how much they depended on Emily Prentiss?

He hadn't. And he called himself exactly what he was for that—a cold, ruthless bastard.

But who was there when Emily needed someone to lean on? Derek? Dave? Neither one of them was the kind of man a woman like Emily would ultimately need. Emily was too complex for them. Too used to hiding behind that ambassador's daughter mask.

Hotch made a vow, as his eyes drifted closed, that _he'd _be someone Emily could count on, if she'd let him. If she'd let him, he'd be so much more.

Now all he had to do was find a way to convince her to give him the chance.


	5. Chapter 6

INTERIM

LATE MAY 2008

Rossi's office was eerily dark—a grim reminder of the events of three days ago. He was currently resting in a drug induced haze after being transferred to the best burn hospital in DC.

Monday morning, Emily had already been to the hospital to see him. He hadn't been awake, but she'd sat beside him anyway. Just to remind herself that he'd be ok, that he'd get through this.

But still, it hurt to think of him lying there so vulnerable, instead of finding him crashed out in his office, like she had on so many mornings in the past four months.

She was always the first one in the office in the mornings—a habit she'd developed early on in her time at the BAU. She'd never wanted to give Hotchner a reason to ride her case. She knew she was just there on sufferance at first, and she'd do anything not to jeopardize that.

Now it was just a habit, and she'd been the first to realize David Rossi often didn't go home at night. At first, she'd said nothing, not wanting to invade the man's privacy. Until she realized, that like her arriving early, his sleeping in his office was becoming a habit. A lonely one.

So she'd brought him coffee. Then bagels. First, only occasionally, then on a more regular basis. They'd began to talk about inconsequential things, things not case related. He'd told her about his family, his brother and nieces and nephew. She'd told him about her mother, and some of the baggage that existed between the two of them. Eventually, they'd became friends as well as colleagues.

After Hotch had gotten his divorce papers, he'd began staying at the office late at night, too. But Emily didn't bring him coffee or bagels. Didn't acknowledge that she knew. Neither she nor Hotch would have considered it any of her business. But she continued to talk to Dave. Until she'd realized one morning, that Rossi was one of the few people in the world to truly _get_ her. One of the few people who truly understood her.

And now this—he was so lucky Hotch had been there. When she thought what could have happened, her breath backed up in her throat and she had to fight the tears.

But at least the case was over. At least Dave was healing.

At least Hotch had told her she was a valued part of the team. Even if she wasn't sure she believed he meant it.

This morning would be the first she'd seen him since they'd wrapped the case up the day after Rossi'd been injured. Since the day after she'd cried so hard on his shoulder.

Why couldn't it have been Derek that found her in the chapel? He'd seen her cry before, and always gave her her space. Always made her smile when she was finished. Always made her feel better.

Hotch had just made her feel awkward. She'd not been able to look at him the remainder of the night in that waiting room, instead staying with Dave's brother until everyone had trickled away—to rest, to find the bastards who'd made the bomb. To escape each other and be alone with their fear, grief, and rage.

She'd cried in the arms of the one member of the team she wasn't sure she liked, knew she didn't understand, and didn't want to ever see her weak.

Dammit. How awkward was today going to be?

EMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

Hotch watched Emily as she settled in at her desk. His window blinds were closed, affording him the privacy he needed to compose himself for the difficult day ahead. Even with Rossi recuperating, the BAU had to go on. He stood by the door, looking around the edge of the blinds. Watching her, thinking.

People were depending on them. To catch monsters again.

Emily was at her desk, and he could almost feel the sigh she released as she looked up at Dave's office. He was aware that they often visited each other before the day began. That of all the team, Emily was probably the closest to Dave. Other than himself, that was.

It would naturally be hard on Emily to come in and see the office empty. She probably had come to depend on that early morning conversation.

He opened the door to his office, determined to make some changes in the way he did things—both personally and professionally, and headed down the stairs. "Good morning, Emily."

Emily looked up at hearing her name, surprise written on her face. He never spoke to her before the briefings. Never. "Good morning, sir."

"Rossi's down in Washington now." Hotch said, moving closer to her desk. "I talked to his brother yesterday."

"Steven called me yesterday morning, too. I was there when they brought Dave down." Emily admitted. "He thought it might be easier for Dave to have someone he felt comfortable with there, as well."

"Steven? Called you?" Hotch asked, surprised. She was on a first name basis with the man?

"Yes. He needed to know someone would be close by if Dave needed something, while Steven's home in Philadelphia." Plus, he'd wanted her number. She hadn't objected. The single father was a nice man, not as intense as those she worked with, but she thought she'd like that. "I volunteered. With his kids, he really can't be running back and forth between Washington and Philadelphia."

"That's right, he's recently divorced." Hotch recalled Rossi telling him a few months ago that his sister-in-law had just up and left her husband of ten years and their four kids. Hotch couldn't imagine it. Jack was hard enough to handle on the weekends by himself.

"Yes, he is." Emily said, confused by the whole conversation. "I went and sat with Dave this morning. They've got him drugged pretty heavily, so he wasn't aware I was there. But his color is looking much better."

"Good." Hotch said. "I planned to run over after work—if we don't get a case."

"Maybe he'll be awake then." She said, noncommittally as Derek strolled in, ready bag slung over his strong shoulder. Spencer was only a few steps behind him.

She'd never been more glad to see her friends. A casual Hotch was not something she was used to. Especially when it was just her and him.

"Maybe." Hotch said, smiling at her softly, before turning to greet Morgan.

_Alternate universe_, was all Emily could think of, as she sank into her chair and checked the pile of papers that had been delivered by the late night mail clerk. _She'd woken up and found herself in an alternate universe. _

She had to lay off reading science fiction before bed.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

The day was relatively uneventful, with nothing more than a few consults and a lot of filing. It gave everyone a day to breathe after the events of the past week.

It gave Emily a chance to go to lunch with Steven Rossi. He'd called her, a few hours into her shift, to let her know that his brother was awake, and there were no signs of infection.

Dave was very lucky.

Then Steven had asked her if she'd like to go to lunch at the little café near the hospital—so he could thank her for her help over the weekend. His voice had hinted at something more, and she hadn't minded in the least.

So she'd said yes, and she'd enjoyed herself. Steven was a nice man, funny, as articulate as his brother, a literature professor with whom she'd had an interesting time talking. Who'd smiled and flirted with her and admitted he was nervous around a pretty girl. It was sweet.

What she didn't enjoy was Derek's annoying smirk when she returned from lunch five minutes late. To find her colleagues waiting around in the bullpen discussing the custodial interview that had cropped up while she was gone—and who was going to accompany Hotch.

Who was waiting at _her _desk. He looked at her intensely as she hurried in.

"Sorry, I'm late." Emily murmured, standing awkwardly next to JJ.

"We have an emergency custodial interview in Chicago. Spencer and Morgan both think they should get to go." Hotch said, severely, eying the two men. He couldn't blame them, things around the office were awkward, the darkness of Rossi's office shadowing every hour. Even a custodial offered a means of escape.

"I see, no taking turns, boys?" She smirked at Derek, hoping to divert Hotch's gaze. Why was he staring at her so intently? Did she still have a bit of salad in her teeth? Was he going to rip her over being a few minutes late—even though she'd never been late before?

"I think Emily should go." JJ said, suddenly. "Since Spence and Derek can't play nice."

"I've never done a custodial interview." Emily admitted. She didn't want to—but how could she tell Hotch that? Say, _sorry, sir, but I don't want to go to Chicago alone with you? Morgan, Spencer, JJ—even Garcia, but not you! _That would go over real well. It was bad enough taking a flight to Milwaukee with him months ago.

"It's settled then. Plane leaves at eight. I want everyone's paperwork on my desk by five." Hotch decided, just becoming aware that of the two dozen custodials the BAU had done in the past year or so—he'd never taken Emily. He'd never thought to. "JJ, make the hotel reservations for tonight. We'll do the interview tomorrow morning and be back tomorrow night."

"Yes, sir." The blonde said, smirking at Emily. She turned on the older woman. "So, a date with Rossi's little brother? How was it?"

"It was lunch, JJ. You know, soup and salads, a block from the hospital. It's not like the man knows anyone else around here." Emily said, as Hotch started to walk away. She suddenly smiled, laughed softly--sweetly. "I like him."

"Good." JJ said, giggling like a teenaged girl, as Spencer and Morgan returned to their desks to finish paperwork—the latter listening to the girls with half an ear. Only Morgan noticed Hotch pause by the foot of the stairs, shoulders stiff, as he looked back at the two women—listening to their conversation. "So what did you talk about?"

"Dave. Literature. He's a professor of Modern American Lit. And his kids, mostly."

"How many and how old?" JJ demanded.

"Four." Emily said. "Three girls and a boy. All under the age of nine, the youngest is about three, I think."

"Wow. Busy man." JJ said. "So…are you going to go out with him again?"

"I don't know. He's pretty busy with the kids. But he will be coming down at least on the weekends to check on Dave. I told him that we'd certainly keep checking on him during the week—when we don't have cases."

"Still…he'll be down on weekends?" JJ said. "That'll be nice. So if he asks, will you go back out with him?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Probably. Yes."

"Wow."

Morgan watched, surprised, as Hotch suddenly moved, stalking up the stairs, throwing an angry glance over his shoulder at the two women who stood still giggling over Emily's new friend.

What the hell was that all about?

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

It took all of Hotch's inner control not to slam his door. He was unreasonably angry, and it was all he could do not to turn to her and demand answers.

It took him a moment to realize that he was actually jealous. Jealous that she'd gone out with another man—even for something so trivial as lunch.

He had no claim on her, why shouldn't she be free to date whomever she wanted? And if she was attracted to a recently divorced, single father—who was he to get angry at her?

He was a recently divorced, single father. That thought made him pause. Consider. Think about it, think about her. Think about him. Steven Rossi was around Hotch's age, the same height, similar build. Similar coloring.

But Steven Rossi made Emily Prentiss smile sweetly, made her laugh like a girl, when she thought about a simple lunch date. Aaron Hotchner made her nervous, made her catch her breath, made her wary. Made her doubt herself.

Was it any wonder she wasn't sure if she wanted _him _as a friend? Why shouldn't she be excited about some literature professor?

He thought back to three nights ago. Thought back to how she'd fit against him as she cried. How he'd vowed then to actually get to know the woman in his arms. How he'd vowed to convince her to maybe take things a little further past friendship.

What he hadn't realized was that she might not be so keen on the idea. He'd have to think about that. First, though, he'd run over to the hospital and check on Rossi. Let him know he was only a call away if he needed anything. Let him know he was going to Chicago for a few days—he and Prentiss.

He remembered then what Rossi had told him only three nights ago. "If she'd look at me the way she looks at you, just once…I'd tell the bureau to screw it's fraternization rules and take her to Aruba."

It wasn't Aruba, and he didn't have the same purpose Dave had implied, but it was _him _she was traveling to Chicago with. Now he'd just have to see exactly how she looked at him. Him—and not Steven Rossi.

He'd have to use it to his advantage. Actually get to know whatever he could about her. Before deciding on his next step.

INTERIM TWO

It had never been just the two of them on the jet before. Thankfully, the flight to Chicago was relatively short. If it had been one of those ungodly long flights, she'd have gone crazy.

"I saw Dave. Spoke to him." Hotch told her, from his window seat. "He's awake and lucid. The doctor says he's looking good."

"Wonderful. I wanted to stop by, but I had to go home and take care of Kurt."

"Kurt?"

"The cat Morgan gave me. I usually have a neighbor check in on him, but she's on vacation in Europe this week." Emily said, inexplicably nervous.

"Dave's brother asked about you." Hotch said, watching her closely for a reaction.

But Emily had long ago learned not to show reactions, of any kind. Especially to this man. "Did he? I thought he was heading home this afternoon."

"Left about six, I think." Hotch said, he pulled something from his bag. "He wanted me to give you this."

Emily smiled, seeing the rare book she'd mentioned to Steven at lunch. Where had he found a copy so quickly? She accepted the book from Hotch and opened the cover, surprised when a note fell out and landed at her feet. "Oh."

Hotch bent down and retrieved it, wanting nothing more than to tear it into pieces. But he didn't, and his face showed no reaction whatsoever as he handed it to her. He opened the file he'd brought with him, but continued to watch her face over the top of it, as she read the other man's letter.

Emily smiled as she read the words Steven had penned. _Emily, I was wandering around this afternoon, waiting for that brother of mine to awaken and I happened upon a little bookstore. Imagine my surprise when I found this—I thought you'd enjoy it, and if you'd like, maybe after you've re-read it—we could discuss it? I'm interested in a woman's perspective! I had a really good time today, and though I have to say the circumstances under which we met were horrible, I am glad we did. Take care until we meet again, Steven._

What a sweet man.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Hotch watched her stealthily, not missing the smile that touched her lips, or the blush that stained her cheeks. What had the damned professor written to get such a response from her?

Did just giving her a book elicit a softness in her that he wasn't used to seeing?

He watched as she idly flipped through the pages, listened as she laughed in surprised delight when a small flower, some sort of lily by the looks of it, fell from where it had been pressed between the pages. Saw her read the second letter, excitedly, smiling almost dreamily.

Now what had the guy written?

He couldn't recall ever feeling this way with Hayley. They'd met and it had been almost an instant attraction. He'd not even had to work that hard for her. Never had to worry about other men looking too hard. Hayley had been awkward, a little plain. Theirs had been a simple, sweet relationship that only the young can form.

He had a feeling Emily Prentiss was going to be a whole different ball game. It set him on edge, tightened his muscles…got him excited.

Aaron Hotchner had never had to go hunting before.

At least not for a woman.

And he was more than looking forward to it.

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The lily thrilled Emily. She'd told him lilies were her favorite over lunch. And he'd found one. He'd remembered, and went to that much trouble—for her. His method of delivery was unique as well.

And for a man supposedly out of practice—Steven had guaranteed she'd think of him that night. Had any man ever done something so simple, or so sweet? For her—Miss self-sufficient, practical, organized, and nerdy Emily Prentiss?

She didn't think so.

She almost forgot Hotch was even on the plane with her, she got so caught up in the book. And the notes. She'd read them both several times. The second one burned into her memory. _Emily, I couldn't resist giving a lovely lady her favorite flower. Think of me, Steven._

As JJ would say—wow. Another smile touched her lips as she rifled the pages one last time, as the plane began making its descent. Then she put it away in her bag, tucking it securely in the bottom. She'd replaced the lily exactly where she'd found it. She closed the zipper on the bag and sat back up.

It was time to be SSA Emily Prentiss again, not the Emily who loved lilies and old books.

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JJ had booked them a suite. Hotch knew it was because of safety—and protocol. They couldn't share a room, but it was safer for both of them—especially Emily, if they were in a suite than regular, off the hall rooms.

It meant they'd be sharing a bathroom.

He offered to let her have the first turn, but she declined. Said she wanted to call JJ and let her know they'd arrived. When he came out to the suite's foyer, he heard her discussing that damned professor—again.

He was getting tired of Dr. Steven Rossi, professor of whatever.

The profiler in him knew exactly what his problem was—he wanted her attention on _him. _

She told JJ good night and severed the connection. She carried her ready bag past him and into her half of the suite. It wasn't a few moments but he heard the sound of the tub filling. And he realized why she'd wanted last go at the bathroom.

She was taking a bath instead of a shower. Filling that deep well up with warm water, probably using some of those bath bead things women liked. Was going to be in there soaking, naked and warm, twenty-five feet away from him. His body tightened reflexively.

Naked, and probably thinking of that damned professor. Dammit.

She'd barely even acknowledged him since they'd gotten on the plane. Hadn't really spoken except in a professional capacity. Shared nothing with him. Treated him with cool, aloof professionalism.

The same way he'd treated her since day one.

Dammit. This was going to be harder than he thought.

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Hotch lay in his bed for several hours after he heard Emily drain the tub and leave the bathroom. Lay there thinking, wondering, scheming. And if he admitted it to himself—fantasizing.

It had been nearly ten months since he'd so much as looked at Hayley with sexual desire. Ten months since he'd even thought about sex with more than a passing urge.

Knowing Emily had been on just the other side of that wall, naked and wet, was killing him. Killing him long after she'd gone to bed.

He sighed, rolling off the regulation hotel mattress, making his way to the restroom. As soon as he opened the door he realized he should have just held it—if he wanted to get any sleep. The bathroom smelled like _her. _Warm vanilla, tart strawberries. Woman. Emily.

Dammit. He definitely wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon, now. He hurried up, got out of that bathroom as quickly as he could. His mind kept picturing just what she would have looked like, all that fragrant scented bath water lapping around her.

He knew she'd be fit, trim. Strong. He'd seen her in a red bikini, saw more of her than he'd ever imagined. Probably be soft as silk, smooth. Knew she curved in all the right places. Not angular like Hayley. Sitting in that tub, water all around her, she'd turn when he opened the door.

Smile at him the way she'd smiled over that damned lily. Say his name, laugh softly. Sweetly. Like she had today with JJ. As he handed her the flower that came with the room service tray.

He'd walk closer to the tub, sink down on the edge. Trail his fingers through the water, close to her chest. She'd have pinned up her dark curls, a few escaping to tease her neck, caress her shoulders, and he'd trickle some water over her exposed neck. She'd lean her head back, and he'd move around her, move behind her. Drop to his knees beside the tub. She'd look up at him, and he'd lean down, brush a kiss across those lips. Touch those shoulders, before moving lower. Beneath the water.

Before pulling her from that tub and carrying her in to his bed. Put her down in the very center of it. Wet, soft, hungry for him—she wouldn't object. Wouldn't object to anything he did to her. And he'd do it all to her.

He'd say to hell with the custodial interview, and he'd keep her in his bed the whole time. Until it was time to meet the jet to fly back to Washington.

They'd order strawberries for him, and chocolate for her. She loved chocolate, he'd heard her tell Reid. So he'd get her chocolate. And they'd stay right where they were.

Getting to know each other. In the most elemental of ways.

He sank down on his mattress, noting how cold and empty it seemed, knowing that he wouldn't be sleeping much at all this trip. Knowing that every time he closed his eyes, he'd see her smiling at him. Waiting for him. Wanting him.

And not that damned lily-giving professor brother of Dave's.

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Emily was inexplicably nervous going into the penitentiary. It was more than the fact that this was her first custodial—with or without Hotch—it was in the way he'd been looking at her all morning.

At breakfast, neither had spoken much. She'd eaten her blueberry bagel, while he'd had steak and eggs. What they did discuss revolved entirely around Adam Preatt, the murderer of eighteen women.

The car ride from the hotel hadn't been any better. They'd discussed the case, him getting her more familiar with the man they'd be seeing, for the entire drive.

Emily had interviewed killers before, so she wasn't too worried about that. But something was up with Hotch, and as a profiler, it freaked her to her toes that she couldn't lay her finger on exactly what it was. She'd never understood the man beside her, and she was beginning to doubt she ever would.

The warden of the prison was a little nonplussed to see Emily. And he was frank about saying so. "We've an open floor plan here. She'll be seen by almost every inmate."

"It's not my first time in a prison." She told him, hand resting on her badge, to remind him that _she _was a federal agent.

"You'll definitely cause a disturbance. A big one." He turned to Hotch, frowning. "Are you sure she should be in there, with _him?''_

"SSA Prentiss is an accomplished interrogator, Warden. The interrogation room is secure, correct?" Hotch asked, as the incident with Chester Hardwick flashed through his mind. "I want someone on the other side of the glass at all times. Just as a precaution."

"I'll be there, myself." The warden reassured him. "And someone will be directly outside the room, as well."

"Then everything should be fine. It's nine-forty now, can you give SSA Prentiss and I twenty minutes then lead Preatt in?" Hotch subtly ordered.

"Yes, sir. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the interrogation room right now." The warden wasn't sure he wanted to be doing this. It was one thing for female attorneys to come to the prison—most of the ones he'd seen were old and haggard, or female jail officers in their bulky, unattractive uniforms. It was quite another for a woman like _this _to walk down the middle of his jail. This block held four hundred eighty-six animals, most mid to maximum security—and each and every one would be staring at this pretty dark-eyed woman.

He'd seen riots break out over far less provocation.

Hotch and the warden walked on either side of Emily, two other guards accompanying them. She was partially blocked from sight, but it didn't matter. No one had expected it to.

Woof whistles, catcalls. Worse. All of it filled the air, as they passed ever so briefly on the block floor, headed toward the bank of rooms to the far right. In Hotch's opinion, Emily handled it just right. She neither acknowledged the calls, nor cringed. Just walked with a purpose that he had to admire. Anyone looking at her would never guess that she even knew she was currently fueling the fantasies of well over four hundred incarcerated men.

And one supervisory special agent. He'd been remembering his dreams about her all morning.

Hotch had to admire the way she could handle just about anything that came her way. He'd never have to shield her from the bad things, like terrorists attacking malls, the way he had Hayley. Emily was a strong woman who did her part to protect the more vulnerable. All without showing any vulnerability of her own.

But Hotch knew better—he'd seen that vulnerability. Had held her while she'd wept. While she'd been dependent on him for just that little while. For a little while, _he _had been the center of her world.

He wanted to be there again. Wanted to feel her pressed against him, leaning into him, relying on him.

Then he wanted her beneath him, taking him. Trusting him. Vulnerable to him. Vulnerable enough that he could just take and take and take. Then do it again.


	6. Chapter 7

INTERIM THREE

Adam Preatt wasn't a sociopath. Wasn't a psychopath. Wasn't mentally ill. Adam Preatt just liked to watch women suffer. Suffer and die.

No, Adam Preatt was a classic sadist. They led him into the interrogation room and the officer began to unchain his hands.

"Leave them on." Hotch ordered, after the Hardwick incident, he was taking no chances—especially with Emily in the room.

Preatt watched her, from the moment he realized there was a woman present. "Hello."

"Mr. Preatt, we're here because you agreed to answer some questions for us." Hotch said. He had eighteen case files spread before him, though he kept them closed.

He'd told Emily to stand, as far away from the table as possible. He'd give her a signal when she should sit down.

"Have nothing better to do with my time—now." His eyes hadn't left Emily but for a few seconds. They were gleaming, heated, empty. "What do you want to know?"

"There's not much we don't already have, Mr. Preatt." Emily said. "We've spoken to all of your relatives, previous co-workers, neighbors."

"So what can I do for you all today?" His hair was thinning and he showed the classic signs of someone who hadn't seen sunlight in several years. He wouldn't see it again, either.

"I have photos of all your victims, plus others that match your MO. I want to know where you first met them, and what made you choose them, and what you did with them." Hotch's voice remained cold, professional, as he spread out thirty-four photographs, some of the known victims, others of missing women who fit the profile. "I want the bodies, Preatt."

"You have all of my bodies." Preatt said, hands spread casually over the table, though the chains limited his movements. "All eighteen of them. Not one more, not one less. These others—albeit they'd be nice bodies—are not mine. Pity. I do like dark-haired women."

He ran a thumb over the first picture, a woman in her twenties with dark eyes and long dark hair. His eyes moved to the woman standing against the far wall. "A lot."

"What about blonde women?" Emily demanded, knowing that some of his victims were as blonde as JJ and Garcia.

"Blondes. They're ok. But they don't scream as loud as brunettes. At least in my experience." He turned toward Hotch. "Yours?"

Hotch wondered briefly if he was asking if Emily was his. "I want you to point out each of the women you killed."

"Her. She was my first." He pointed to a portrait of a laughing, green-eyed brunette. "Met her in a bar."

He turned toward Emily. Ran his eyes over her severe business suit, and straight dark hair. "Bet you're not the kind to take a man home from a bar, are you?"

"Why did you pick her?" Emily asked, getting to the heart of their visit. Every little detail they could collect could help them in determining his victimology. Victimology was unique to certain types of killers, and every bit of information they found could help them catch others.

It was the whole purpose behind the custodial interviews.

They waited while Preatt scanned the stack of photos, studying each face. Emily watched his face carefully, looking for nuances of remembrance, of puzzlement—of excitement. Each picture had a number on the back—big enough for her to see, one through thirty-four, and she made a mental of all the ones that seemed to excite him.

Her list matched that of the victims perfectly. He showed no emotion—or recognition of the other sixteen women.

This was not good.

"These." Preatt said, "Are mine. These others, close, but no cigar. What I wouldn't give for a good cigar right now. Pretty lady—think you can get me a cigar?"

"What about this woman? Or this one?" Hotch pointed to two of the remaining sixteen women.

"I've never seen them before." His voice didn't rise. "How do I even know they're dead? How do I know you're not trying to blame me for something that hasn't even happened yet? I'm not so sure I want to talk to you anymore. Her—I'll talk to her until they put me down, in how many years? Seven? But you. I don't like you at all."

"How did you choose these women then?" Emily asked softly, distracting him from Hotch. "These eighteen. What was it about them that caught your attention? Individually. Starting from the beginning."

"Their eyes. Their hair. The way the carried themselves." He began, angling his body toward Emily. "I'd have chosen you. If I'd seen you. I like women who are confident. Women who can take care of themselves. I like to show them differently."

"What about this woman?" Hotch asked, pointing the picture of the second victim. "How did you choose her specifically?"

"At the gas station in West Chicago." He began. "She had a cooler. And she couldn't lift it. I offered to help, she refused. She shouldn't have refused. A woman is supposed to like a man doing things for her. Do you like it when your man does things for you, pretty lady?"

"What about the next woman?" Emily asked, ignoring his question. "Where did you see her? Why her?"

"Grocery store. The carryout offered to help her. She refused. Laughed. Said she could handle it. Shouldn't have done that. Self-sufficient women are the downfall of this country, don't you agree, Agent Hotchner? Women are supposed to be soft, dependent. How soft is your pretty little partner?"

"What about this woman?" Emily asked, seeing Hotch's hand give the signal for her to move closer. She took the seat next to him, and began spreading the photographs out over the table.

She repeated the process with ten more women. Got similar answers for all. Gas stations, grocery stores, garden centers. Casual places that a woman would go every day. Go and not pay attention to the man who held the door, or offered to help her lift something into her trunk.

Easy. Vulnerable. Terrifying.

"What about this woman?" She asked in the same tone. This portrait was one of the sixteen women he'd claimed not to recognize. She'd mixed the portraits up as she'd spread them out over the table. Trying to catch him, trying to trick him.

He stared at the portrait a moment before looking up at her. "I didn't. She's not one of mine."

She tried circling back several times, but he always denied any connection to the sixteen women.

Finally the interview was over and the guard returned for Preatt. "Pretty lady, it has been one of the nineteen most pleasurable days of my life today. I thank you for that. My only regret is that I didn't meet you before moving to this lovely establishment. Good day. And good luck catching your killers."

Emily watched him being led out of the room and waited until the door shut behind him before releasing a shiver. "Yuck!"

Hotch smiled at her, "Emily, you did good with him."

"Thanks, I think, sir."

"Hotch." He said. "I thought we agreed you'd not _sir _me so much."

"Old habit." She sighed, reaching to help him gather the files. Their hands brushed softly and he didn't jerk away. Moved to cover her hand with his.

"You ok?" He asked, reading something in her sigh.

His hand was hot, the touch not something she was accustomed to. She shivered. He felt it, looked at her over the files.

"I'm, uh. Fine." Emily said, pulling her hand away. _What the hell? _He'd never touched her like that before. It was always professional with Aaron Hotchner. Until the night in the chapel when he'd spoken about them being friends. Maybe this was his attempt.

She forced herself to relax. Forced herself to smile at him in return. She didn't miss the way his dark eyes flared.

Warden Mitchell chose that moment to open the door, thundering in in a manner only a man that large could. He'd make twice of Hotch. "So did you find out what you needed to know? It's almost rec time, we need to get her out of here before then. They'll be out of their cells."

"Adam Preatt killed eighteen women." Hotch began as Emily loaded the last of the files into the bag. "But the person who killed sixteen others is still out there."

"Somewhere." Emily added.

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She called JJ, under Hotch's orders, and told her to get her, Reid, and Morgan to Chicago as quickly as possible. That they had a case. Emily was never more glad for reinforcements in all of her life.

After hanging up the phone, she turned toward the man beside her in the warden's office. "JJ's got the jet fueling up as we speak. That woman moves fast."

"Good. We'll head to Roosevelt street. Check in with the Chicago Field Office. Then we'll get lunch." Hotch decided. He remembered a nice little Italian bistro near the Chicago Field Office. "Have you ever been to Spinelli's?"

"Oh. The best manicotti in four states." She breathed, remembering the restaurant from her Chicago field assignment days. "I've missed them."

"Excellent." He said, smiling. So she liked Italian—score one for him.

Take that, lily-giver Steven!

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They decided to eat first. Emily was actually excited, even if her lunch partner was the reclusive Hotch. Spinelli's was one of her favorite places in the world. During the five years she'd lived in Chicago she'd eaten there at least twice a week. She told Hotch that as he held the door open for her.

Hotch laughed softly, glad he'd suggested it. He couldn't get over how her dark eyes sparkled over something so simple as a little Italian eatery two blocks from the field office.

She looked just like she had over that damned lily and Hotch felt a perverse thrill, knowing he'd put that look in her dark eyes.

He'd make a point to bring her back before they left Chicago.

They gave their orders and waited in awkward silence, until Hotch broke the unwritten rule. "You did really good in there today."

"You said so earlier." Emily reminded him.

"True. But you got further with him than I could." Hotch rested his elbows on the checkered tablecloth while they waited. "Something sounded off."

"I know. But I couldn't put my finger on it." Emily sighed, sipping her soda. "He might not have done it, Hotch, but he most likely knows who did."

"He knows something." Hotch agreed, as the food arrived. "What, I couldn't tell."

"So are we going to speak to him again?"

"First I want to get set up at the field office, get Morgan and the team here. Some of these women are from Indiana and Michigan. We'll have to split up and check with the locals in both those locations as well."

Emily paused a moment as her manicotti was placed in front of her. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of tomato and basil. "Oh, God. I have missed this. There is no place in Washington that ever could compare."

Hotch felt his stomach tighten at the look on her face. When the woman forgot she was with _him _she was elemental, enthusiastic, appreciative, tactile. Totally different from the reserved agent she portrayed when on the job.

It made him hungry. And not for the lasagna before him. His thoughts from the night before ran through his mind. Mad him wonder what she'd be like, what it would be like. Made him wonder what she'd be like in a more sensual arena than a simple eatery. Made him wonder what she'd be like in a darkened bedroom, with him to touch, taste, smell. Feel.

God. He wanted that.

INTERIM FOUR

The doors to the Chicago Field office opened automatically, allowing Emily to pass through them and into the world she'd lived in for eight years. The same carpet, the same desks—the same receptionist.

"SSA Prentiss!" The woman called. "My goodness, look at you!"

"Hello, Joanie. Look at you—how are the kids?"

"Graduated the last one this year. Off to Yale!"

"Good for him. We need to talk to the unit chief who handles serial crimes. Who would that be, I wonder?" Emily hugged the woman lightly, laughing ironically at her own question.

"Something's around here never change, sweetie. He's in the same office—I trust you know the way?" Joan said. "And before you leave, you and I will have coffee and you can fill me in on everything in DC, you hear?"

"We'll do that." Emily said before leading Hotch to the elevators. He'd not said anything, and she glanced at him. "Sorry about that. Joanie can be a bit chatty."

"That's fine. You'll probably know quite a lot of people here, won't you?" Hotch asked, pushing the button she'd indicated.

"A few, I worked here for five years. I'm sure a good majority of those people are still here. Unit Chief Michaels is a good guy. He'll be a lot of help." Emily said, as the elevator began to rise. It stopped on the next floor up and more people piled in, forcing Hotch to stand closer.

He could smell her shampoo. He loved her scent—the mix of strawberry and Emily that he'd first became aware of in a North Dakota barn.

Now it was all he could think about whenever he stood close enough to smell her.

The elevator stopped again, crowding the cart to the maximum. Hotch moved to stand behind her, freeing space for the crowd. He felt her bump up against him as she was crowded closer. Felt her hair brush against his cheek. He loved that she was only a half-head shorter than him, in her boots.

Emily was more than aware of his heat behind her, as the man in front of her crowded her even closer. The idiot was doing it on purpose, trying for a brush up and she wanted nothing more than to kick him.

Hotch knew what was going on, and any other time he'd have been furious. But as the man moved closer to Emily—she moved closer to him. Finally, he put one hand on her waist, and simply pulled her to his chest, flush against him.

Closer than she'd even been the night in the chapel. He heard her startled gasp, smiled to himself. Tightened his hand. Whispered in her ear. "You alright?"

"Yes. Crowded." Emily whispered back, trying in vain not to shiver at the feel of his breath against her ear.

_What the hell was going on? _Was he doing it deliberately?

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Hotch was grateful for Emily knowing the unit chief. Explaining that they had a serial killer active in the area—that the Chicago office wasn't aware of, could have set off some territorial sparks. It didn't. SSA Michaels was a congenial, sixty-something man, friendly and well-liked by all the agents in his unit.

He'd given Emily a warm hug the instant she'd knocked on his office door. Listened as she'd explained what happened and what the BAU would need.

At nearly seven that evening, JJ and the rest of the team arrived. Michaels assigned two Chicago agents as liaisons with the Washington team, two agents that Emily was very familiar with.

And to Hotch's chagrin, they seemed very _familiar _with her. Tony Amecci and Phillip Coombs were men about his own age, and they'd each greeted Emily with enthusiastic hugs, which she'd returned almost too readily.

Dammit, why was it that he was just _now _noticing all the male attention she seemed to garner wherever they went? Had it always been like that, or had he just failed to notice?

Like he'd failed to notice how her eyes lit when she was happy? How her smile was wide when she was truly amused by something?

He'd decided several days ago, alone in a hotel room after his friend had been so severely injured, that he'd spend as much time as he could getting to know every nuance of the only team-member he'd not handpicked. That he'd make her see that they could be so much more than what they were.

JJ looked a bit green when she stepped into the lobby of the Chicago Field office, and Hotch suspected the morning sickness was hitting the young woman pretty hard. Emily must have assumed the same thing, she pulled a package of crackers from her purse and told the younger woman to eat them.

He liked watching how she seemed to seamlessly coddle everyone on the team—except him.

He'd like it if she brought _him _coffee and bagels in the morning. He'd sat in his office many a day and listened to the laughter coming from Dave's. Wished he could be a part of it, that easy camaraderie that developed between members of his team. But he'd been taught that a leader had to remain separate from those under him. Never get too close.

Just watch them form a family around him. Watch them try to include him. He could honestly say he was close to JJ, close to Reid. Relatively close to Morgan. And he and Dave had been friends for what seemed like half a lifetime. But he'd never made so much as a move toward being Emily's friend. And the profiler in him wondered about that.

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Emily was extremely glad to see the rest of the team as they all headed to the hotel to get the room situation sorted out. Emily suspected she'd be moving into a room with JJ and letting Hotch have the suite, with Derek and Reid. It had two rooms and a pullout couch in the foyer. It just made sense.

She was wrong. The hotel only had one room available. A standard two bed two floors below the suite. Hotch assigned that room to Derek and Morgan, saying he'd take the pullout in the suite with the women.

Nobody argued. It was safer for the women to be in a suite. Still, it made Emily nervous to think that Hotch would be right outside her bedroom door, if she got up to go to the bathroom or the mini-fridge, she'd run the risk of waking him up.

It shouldn't matter, they'd all slept side by side on the plane dozens of times. Hell, she'd slept curled up against him in North Dakota. Had woken with her head pillowed on his chest, her leg twined with his.

And he'd been awake. Had stared down at her, that intensely cold Hotchner stare. She'd held her breath, waiting for him to say something. To remind her of her place, her standing on the team.

He hadn't, had just loosened his hold—his hands had been linked behind her back—and let her go. She'd hurriedly moved away, bumping into poor Reid in the process. He'd been asleep on her other side.

Hotch had said nothing about it, and she certainly hadn't mentioned it. She'd just chalked it up to shared body heat and moved on.

But, maybe _he _hadn't? Why hadn't _he _moved away from _her? _Instead he'd been _holding _her.

He'd been looking at her differently in the last few days, and the only thing she could think of was that night a week ago, and crying in his arms four days ago.

The most physical contact she'd had with Aaron Hotchner in the last year and a half and it all occurred within a week's time.

And the way he'd looked at her today, touched her hand. Actually covered hers with his own—that was something she'd never expected.

Wasn't sure she liked.

JJ drew her attention, sick in the suite's bathroom and she rushed in, just in time to hold the woman's blonde hair out of her face.

"I'm going to die." The younger woman moaned. "I'm going to die, Emily. And when I do—I want your promise that you'll kill Will for me. Promise me?"

"Kill Will? I don't know, wouldn't that be illegal? I would, you understand, but I've already been in one prison today—it wasn't exactly fun."

"Justifiable. Completely justifiable." JJ declared, not aware that Hotch had approached the bathroom door. And was listening to everything they said. That he'd smiled softly at their exchange.

"How about I call Derek and we'll send him on a Seven-up and chocolate pudding run?" Emily suggested, in a soothing tone. "And crackers."

"Lots of crackers. And some ice cream." JJ decided, letting the older woman lead her to her half of the suite. "Em, I don't know if I can do this."

"Of course you can, Jay." Emily maneuvered the younger woman around Hotch, who stood, unashamedly listening. "Let's just get you laying down, take a nap, you'll feel better when you wake up."

"Okay. Don't discuss the case without me."

"Don't worry, we'll wake you if we discover anything important. Sleep." Emily was firm as she led JJ to the bed Hotch had occupied the previous night.

Hotch waited until she returned from JJ's room before sinking down onto the couch. "She ok?"

"She will be. Morning sickness is hitting her pretty hard, at all times of the day."

"Hayley didn't get sick. Just a day or two. Poor JJ, flying probably isn't helping." Hotch said, thinking of the ramifications for the team, if they had to have fill-in media liaison. JJ was an integral part of the team, and the months she'd be off would be difficult.

"No, probably not." Emily said, sinking into a plush armchair near him. "What are we going to do tonight? I don't want to leave the room in case she needs something. Not if we don't have to."

"I'll call Amecci and…Agent Coombs. Have them meet us here and we can get started here. Call for pizza." Hotch decided. "And crackers, Seven-up, and what was it?"

"Chocolate pudding and ice cream, I believe." Emily's lips quirked at the list.

"I'll send Reid and Morgan on a pudding hunt. Is there anything you need?"

"Reese's peanut butter cups. Derek will know what to get. I've sent him hunting before." Emily said. They were her one weakness—besides straight dark chocolate.

"I'll get right on that."

"I'm going to take a bath, will you knock and let me know when every one gets here?" Emily stood.

"Of course." God, the thought of her in that tub was nearly his undoing. Did she realize how much she was torturing him, just by being near?

Somehow, he doubted she did.

Which made it all the worse. What he wouldn't give to lock the suite door and back her into her room. Back her up until her knees hit the edge of the bed. Until she was standing in front of him with nowhere to escape except on the mattress.

He'd pin her down, fist his hand in that hair. Use the other to hold both her hands above her head. Making her arch against him, vulnerable and delicate. His.

Instead, he forced himself to nod politely and pull out his cell phone to call Morgan and the Chicago agents. Forced himself to sit patiently while he heard the sounds of the tub being filled. Of her moving around.

Forced himself to knock on the bathroom door when the other men arrived. Forced himself not to react when she opened the door, dressed in faded sweats and a t-shirt, and a cloud of scented mist escaped the bathroom.

Dammit. He didn't know if he could do this.

What the hell was he becoming that he couldn't spend one evening within fifteen feet of her without turning into some damned caveman, ready to back her against the wall?

She was his colleague, his _subordinate, _for God's sake!

He never would have imagined having these feelings for her—these feelings for someone other than Hayley. Ever.

But here they were. And if anything, Aaron Hotchner made it a point to always know exactly what he wanted. And to get it.

He'd get her. He just had to be patient. Patient.

INTERIM FIVE

_Napoleon Hill said:_

_Your ability to use the principle of autosuggestion will depend, very largely, upon your capacity to concentrate upon a given desire until that desire becomes a burning obsession._

Patience had always come easy to Aaron Hotchner, but tonight his patience was more than wearing thin.

Emily had taken every excuse to avoid him and he'd gotten the impression it was a more than deliberate act on her part. She was acting nervous in manner, and it increased whenever he got within a few feet of her. While he was glad she was aware of him, it made it damned difficult for him to get close to her. A vicious conundrum for him.

"So what do we know so far?" Morgan asked, from his position on the couch beside Emily. She'd deliberately sat between him and one of the Chicagoan agents, making it impossible for Hotch to sit beside her. "What convinced you guys that Preatt was telling the truth?"

"Consistency." Emily explained; she tapped her pen against her knee as she spoke, an unconscious beat. "We tried several times to trip him up and he remained firm. Even when his guard was down."

"Over and over, in any questions," Hotch added. "He was insistent he only killed eighteen women."

"And you believed this guy?" Amecci asked, his face and tone clearly skeptical. "Why."

"Experience." Hotch said. "His manner, his tells. All indicated his level of truthfulness. Plus, he never slipped. Not once."

"So what do we do now?" Coombs asked. He was the quieter of the two field agents, and he rarely spoke. He'd been one of Emily's first partners in Chicago, and they'd grown extremely close. "To find these other sixteen women?"

"Study the patterns." Reid began, excitedly. "Study any details to determine where they were taken from, determine _how _they were chosen. This will lead to correlations with other behaviors that could narrow a list of who'd have access and who'd have the desire."

"Look, kiddo, I know this is what you do, but I am not so sure. I mean, this last woman went missing four years ago. How are you supposed to find her?" Coombs asked, looking at Emily sitting beside him and using the nickname he'd given her the first week she'd worked with him. He was ten years older, and the name had stuck.

"Trust me, Phillip. We do know what we're doing." Emily smiled at the red-headed man. "We can't offer any guarantees, of course. But we can help."

"No offense, Em-_ee-_lee," Tony drawled, "But I'd prefer we do this the old-fashioned way."

"Guns drawn, and fists ready?" Emily asked, drily. She'd worked with Tony Amecci nearly as frequently as Coombs. She was very familiar with his style. "Sometimes, it doesn't always work that way. Remember Denver?"

Coombs snorted, drawing everyone's attention. "She's got you there."

"Can we get back on track, here, please?" Hotch said, eying both Chicagoan agents. He hated that they had a shared history with Emily—even had individual nicknames for her—that he knew nothing about. Had a past with her that included laughter and memories.

He had a history of cold aloofness, of suspicion and mistrust. Was it any wonder she was more open with these two men in the hour they'd been in the suite than she'd been with him in a year and a half?

Hotch didn't know what to think of his new obsession with SSA Emily Prentiss. He'd never been attracted to dark haired women. The girl he'd dated before Hayley had been a blue-eyed blonde who'd resembled JJ considerably. Yet here he sat, aware of every breath the brunette took.

Suddenly. It had hit him so suddenly while holding her close in a small hospital chapel that there was just something about her that he couldn't forget, that chased all thoughts—all memories—of Hayley out of his mind. Out of his dreams. It had hit him so suddenly he didn't know what to think at times.

How to act. How not to _re-_act.

But one thing he couldn't do was go back to being that same cold bastard who shut her out on a daily basis.

It was only after Hayley had left that he'd realized he'd retreated so far behind a cold façade that people had had no way to reach him. Only Jack seemed able to even elicit a smile, anymore.

His team couldn't get close to him, his wife hadn't been close to him, his brother wasn't close to him—and it was all his fault.

When Gideon had lost his Sara and retired, Hotch had realized exactly what he was doing to the people around him. But ironically, as he'd had his epiphany, Hayley'd had one of her own. She'd left and taken Jack with her.

When the divorce papers had arrived, he'd realized it was too late for him and Hayley—but not him and his other family. Jack, Sean, and the team were all that mattered to him. And he'd made a concerted effort to open up to them. With JJ, Reid, even Morgan. With Dave, there had been no hesitation.

But he'd always seemed to overlook Emily. Now he was feeling that oversight, deeply. How did he make it up to her? While still convincing her that the possibility existed for something more?

He'd not had to entice a woman for twenty years. Had never had to play the game, and wasn't even sure where to start. If he should start.

If she'd want him to start. If he could keep himself _from _starting.

His dreams were starting to intrude on his daily life. He'd look at her across the conference table and would think of nothing but picking her up and setting her on it, moving between her legs and leaning down, kissing her hard—until she was focused on him and only him, and not the files spread between them.

How was he supposed to work with her when that was all he could think about?

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch finally called it for the night, nearing on midnight. JJ had awakened, long enough to meet and greet the two Chicagoans. And to get re-acquainted with the god of morning sickness. Emily'd once more sent her to bed, with a package of crackers and Reese's chocolate.

The Chicagoan field agents lingered, speaking with Emily softly as Reid and Morgan headed down to their own room. Hotch struggled not to listen too obviously.

Her laughter rang out through the suite, and Hotch struggled not to look up as he reorganized the files spread over the coffee table. The younger agent said something Hotch couldn't quite catch, in a low voice filled with flirtatious laughter. He was rapidly getting on Hotch's bad side. Calling her Em-_ee-_lee, and touching her shoulder, her back. Kissing her on the cheek as Hotch watched him and his partner leave.

"You know them pretty well." Hotch said, as Emily closed the door behind the two men. "Coombs and Amecci."

"We were a team for nearly three years, Hotch." She said, moving to help him with the case files. "I can tell you pretty much anything about them. Why?"

"They just seemed comfortable with you." _Touching you. _"I wondered, that's all."

"Why?" Emily asked bluntly. "They're both unbelievably good at their jobs. If anyone can help us find this guy after all this time it'll be Tony and Phil."

"You're not that comfortable with the members of our team. Not like that." Hotch said, watching her face for a reaction. He got one, but it was so small he wasn't sure how to interpret it. "Not with me."

"Hotch—don't take this the wrong way, but you've not made it easy for me to _get_ comfortable with you. And Reid—well, we all know he's had a few problems in the last few months. JJ and I are good friends, Garcia, too. Morgan and Dave, I'd say I was comfortable with both of them. Why?" Emily always pulled fewer punches the later at night it was. When she was tired, she censored her words far less. "What does it matter? I'm here to do a job and nothing more. Phil and Tony and I are all professionals, who happen to be good friends. But we know our jobs."

"I never said you didn't."

"No. You didn't." She sighed. "There's something different about you lately, Hotch. I'm not sure what, but it's disconcerting."

"I apologize, I think." His tone was rueful. How could he expect her to understand what was happening with him—when he didn't understand it himself. "We've had one hell of a last month and it's made me realize a few things."

"Yes?" Emily was wary and her face showed it. "Like what?"

"I've gotten so wrapped up in running the unit, I've forgotten about the people in it. Can I ask you something? How long has JJ been seeing Detective La Montaigne?"

"Almost a year." Emily's eyes widened as she opened the fridge and pulled out a soda. Handed him one before opening one for herself. "Wait! Are you telling me you didn't know? You're kidding me!"

"No. I didn't know. Until he showed up in New York."

"Wow." Emily repeated one of JJ's favorite expressions of disbelief unconsciously, a by-product of spending so much time with the younger woman. "So you probably don't know about Garcia and…"

She trailed off, not sure she should tell him of her friend's fraternization.

"Lynch? No, I didn't know until Dave told me about the man-to-man discussion they had."

"Ok, none of us knew until then. But JJ and Will—that's been going on since they met. You didn't know she'd fly to Louisiana every weekend she could? She tried so hard to hide it. But we all guessed—even Reid."

"I've been a little unobservant. Which is never a good thing for a profiler, right?" Hotch laughed depreciatively.

"Bad year. We all have them." Emily offered, shrugging nervously, uncertain of what she could say to her superior. "We, uh, all knew things weren't going easy for you, Hotch. We didn't want to put any unnecessary worry on your shoulders."

"Yes. How much of that worry did others shoulder for me? I know you helped Reid immensely, Emily. And when Penelope was recovering—I know it was you who stayed with her at night after Morgan left." Hotch moved to stand beside her, in front of the hotel's large window. It looked out over the Chicago skyline and was a beautiful sight. "I know you made sure Dave ate breakfast on a regular basis. Made sure he knew he wasn't completely alone in that office."

"Like you were." Emily added, softly. Reading the expression in his eyes. "I'd have offered the same, Hotch. But I didn't think it would have been welcomed."

"It probably wouldn't have." Hotch admitted, honestly. "I wanted nothing to do with anyone. Just Jack. But now, I'd kind of like the company."

"What's changed?" Emily asked, abruptly. She took a step away from him. "Is it because of what happened in New York with Dave?"

"Partially. A lot of other things." Hotch said, moving closer unconsciously. "I signed the divorce papers, uncontested, the way Hayley wanted. I saw JJ with la Montaigne and realized that the lives of the people I cared about were changing, and I was too wrapped up in other things to notice. I made a decision to not just lead the team, but to be a _part _of it, as well."

"You've always been a part of the team." Emily protested, moving slightly closer then retreating as she realized what she'd done. "More so than anyone else. Didn't you pick Reid, Morgan, and JJ for the team yourself?"

"Yes. I did." He once more followed her step without thought. Until she was leaning against the bar slightly and he was close enough to smell her hair. "I want to apologize for how I've treated you over the last year and a half. I was distrustful and I haven't acknowledged your contributions."

"I don't need acknowledgment." Emily said, softly but firmly, well aware that he'd somehow boxed her in between him and the counter. "Like I told you at the hospital. You respect me professionally, and that is all I need."

"Is it?" Hotch asked, idly. He was warm as he crowded in just a little past propriety, as his hand came up to cup her elbow. "I do, you know. And I do appreciate all the things you do—both in the cases, and within the team. You take care of everybody and I doubt we've even noticed. Says something for a bunch of profilers, doesn't it?"

"I like to take of everybody, as you put it. The team is my family, too." She moved slightly, slipping out of the small trap he'd had her in.

"They, Jack, and my brother, are all I've got." Hotch admitted, copying her movement almost imperceptibly. "You, too. I wanted to make sure you knew that."

JJ watched the couple from her position outside her bedroom door. They spoke too low for her ears to pick up, but she watched as they did an eerie kind of dance around the kitchen. Emily would move, and Hotch would follow. And he was close. Closer than JJ could ever remember seeing him with anyone, especially Emily. It made her think of some sort of dance between two partners who just weren't quite sure of the other.

She watched for a moment more, before returning to her room, just to ask herself, _what if _Hotch _really was Emily's Mr. Right?_

Wow.

INTERIM SIX

_Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them - every day begin the task anew.  
__**Saint Francis de Sales**_

Sixteen women, Hotch thought, as he posted the final portrait on the bulletin board. Had no one really looked close enough at their disappearances to realize they weren't Preatt's kills?

Hotch stepped back and stared at the collection of 8 x 10s, trying to ascertain just what it was about them that had caught the UNSUB's eye.

Young—early to mid thirties, his mind cataloged, attractive, dark eyed. Dark haired, for the most part. Thirteen of the sixteen women had hair on the darker end of the spectrum.

Preatt had also favored brunettes, though he'd had several blonde victims as well. It was one of the reasons hair color wasn't considered part of the typology.

But now it was one of the few things they had to go on. The final victim bothered Hotch the most. Terri Ann Souter had been a corrections officer with the same penitentiary that housed Preatt. And she looked enough like Emily to be her sister. Large dark eyes, just a shade lighter than Emily's, sparkled above a wide grin. The hair was parted in a way he'd often seen Emily wear hers, and it was curled. He loved it when Emily curled her hair, but seeing that picture bothered him on an intrinsic level.

Someone was probably missing this woman, and Hotch was determined to find out just exactly what had happened to her, and the others. He heard the sounds of the team and the local agents as they filled the conference room at the Chicago office. He smelled coffee and strawberries at his elbow and he looked to his left, seeing Emily holding a cup out to him.

"You were gone when we woke up, so I thought you might need this." She didn't smile, her voice was low, "See anything that stands out?"

"Thank you." He took the coffee, pleased by the gesture. She'd never done it before and he was surprised at the thrill of warmth that rushed through him at the knowledge that she'd thought about _him_ that morning. "Victim typology. Predominately, brown and brown."

"Lovely." Emily said, mouth twisting as she caught the obvious connection. "Anything else?"

"Not yet." Hotch admitted, "I want a detailed victimology profile today—then we'll split into teams. One team to Indianapolis, one to Detroit."

"Where the women disappeared from. You think there's bodies somewhere, don't you?" Emily asked, as they moved to sit around the large conference table. Hotch made doubly sure to be on her right side. JJ took her left. As the remaining team members—plus two—settled in around the table, he thought about how he was going to separate the team. JJ would need to stay in Chicago, close to the field office.

Protocol demanded she not be in the field during her pregnancy. Traveling to the field offices was allowed, but any other field work was prohibited. So JJ would have to stay behind. He could leave Emily with her, but with her fitting the victimology, he would feel better knowing Emily was within his sight at all times.

So that left Reid or Morgan—and he needed Morgan in the field. He was really feeling the hole that Rossi had left.

He sipped the coffee, finding it exactly how he liked it. Thank God for other profilers. She'd known he'd liked strong, dark coffee—just like he knew she liked hers with a touch of chocolate. The woman wasn't lying when she told Reid she loved chocolate—she _really_ loved chocolate.

He'd add that to the list of things he knew about her: she liked Vonnegut, cats, lilies, Italian, and chocolate. And to fuss over people—and this morning she'd chosen _him _to fuss over. It was…nice. He knew he could get used to it.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

It was a peace offering. That's why Emily'd brought him coffee. If he was attempting to develop a friendship with her, she'd let him. The man was obviously feeling lonely and adrift after the last year, and when she'd thought about it after she'd retreated to her room, her heart had practically broke for him. He'd lost in one way or form too many people—or nearly lost them—for one man to reasonably be able to handle.

That had to be the reason for his abrupt character shift where she was concerned. At least, that's the conclusions Emily had come to around three a.m.

So if he wanted to be friends, she'd be ok with that.

Everyone was subdued as Hotch moved to stand near the bulletin board and just behind Emily's chair. She turned slightly so she could see the man dressed in a regulation blue suit, inexplicably aware of him.

Surely someone was bound to notice how he'd started to be everywhere she turned—the team was nothing if not perceptive. Someone surely had caught on to his change in behavior—or was she just imagining it?

She listened to his words before adding, "We need to know everything about the last few days before each of these women went missing. We're going to have to start completely at the beginning—and then see if there is any tie to Preatt."

"Exactly. First I want a general victimology and a rough profile. Then Morgan, you and Agents Amecci and Coombs will go to Detroit in the morning. The largest number of victims were from the Indianapolis area, Prentiss and I will be taking those tomorrow, as well." He paused a moment, rested his hand on the back of Emily's chair. "JJ, you and Reid will stay here—Reid, I want you to detail everything you can, and interview the families of the Chicago victims. Agent Coombs, can you and Agent Amecci coordinate with both Detroit and Indianapolis today? Make all arrangements and follow up on any disappearances since Terri Souter went missing? JJ, I want you to contact Garcia and find out everything that can be found out on all sixteen of these women. Then I want you on the phone making appointments for the five women from this area. Morgan, you, Prentiss, and I will be going over every case file on these women and any files that might be similar for Illinois, Missouri, and Kentucky."

"Yes, sir." Morgan and Emily both said, automatically. Emily tried not to think about the fact that he'd paired her off with him yet again.

Why?

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily was exhausted, and it wasn't even one o'clock. But they had a profile—or at least a beginning one.

They were simply looking for a man in his late thirties or early forties, with paranoid personality disorder. Who had ties to Detroit, Indianapolis, and Chicago. He was most likely white and had never been married, or was long divorced.

Three hours of work and that's all they'd been able to narrow down—on the UNSUB.

The victims were a completely different story. They'd found that all were taller than average, all were reasonably attractive, all were employed in a wide range of fields, and were successful at their chosen occupations. All were childless—and none were married, although they were all said to have been dating or living with someone.

It was a start.

They'd hopefully find out more once they'd spoken to the local authorities in Detroit and Indianapolis, and once they finished interviewing the victims' families—they'd have a clear and accurate picture of just who these women were—and maybe a good insight why the UNSUB had chosen them.

And then they'd go from there.

The only hitch in her equilibrium—Hotch would be the one beside her while she interviewed. He'd always made her feel like she was on edge, constantly being evaluated. Was it because he was a profiler to the core? Or was it her?

Questions she'd asked herself a hundred times.

And she still had no answers.

Add in the way things had changed between them since New York, and was it any wonder she was confused—almost longing for her pre-BAU days when she'd flown a desk job in this very building? Her old office was one hundred fifteen feet down the hall, occupied by a man with male-pattern baldness and a lisp. She almost longed for its comfort and solitude.

Hotch had been right, the night before. She had been extremely close to her team, her agents. And it had been _her _team. She'd been the supervisory agent. Had made the decisions. Had worked hard for that position. When her transfer to the BAU had been approved she'd been more than excited. She'd worked her entire career for that opportunity.

Once there—she'd found Hotch.

It had taken all her fortitude not to apply for another transfer. But she'd stuck it out, proved to all around that she'd earned her position in the field, in the BAU. But she'd always wondered if she'd proven herself to _him._

Always felt like she was striving to make _him _see that she was good at her job. Had earned her place by his side.

Just like she'd earned her place on SSA Unit Chief Michaels' floor five years ago. And then worked herself up to a team of her own. And she'd chosen to sacrifice that autonomy, that position, to work _under _the legendary Aaron Hotchner and Jason Gideon.

And it hadn't been easy.

Nothing about Aaron Hotchner was ever easy.

Understanding him certainly wasn't. And for a woman who prided herself solely by her skills at her job—it was nothing but frustrating.

And she hated that he was distracting her from that job.

_Dammit. What the hell was he up to_?

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

The entire team decided that Spinelli's was the place to eat, so Emily found herself once again inhaling the beautiful scent of tomato and basil and parmesan. And crammed into a booth against Hotch's side. You couldn't get a hair between them, and the warm smell of his aftershave competed with that of the Italian eatery.

Since when had she become so _aware _of Hotch? _Alternate universe_ was the only explanation.

She once again ordered the manicotti, ignoring Phil and Tony's laughing comments about some things never changing. She loved it, and only got Spinelli's on rare occasions.

"So you ate here a lot, huh?" Derek asked. "To think, we probably saw each other in here."

"This place is great." JJ said, enthusiastically, eying her spaghetti and the accompanying garlic bread. "I so _love_ this!"

"I know, isn't it wonderful?" Emily asked rhetorically. "This is probably the one thing I miss the most about Chicago."

"You don't miss having the opportunity to order us around?" Tony asked.

"Having to cover your ass, you mean?" She retorted. Tony Amecci was, at times, an extremely reckless agent. But he'd always gotten the job done. "You caused me more trouble than any other agent on the team."

"I did so try." He said, grinning. "But you did your job so well!"

"And she's probably the reason you _still_ have a job. Now let the woman eat." Phillip said. They'd both started out as her team mates, but when she'd gotten an assignment of her own, they'd asked to transfer to her team. It had really touched her, the faith they'd had in her leadership skills—considering they both had more experience than she had.

"What am I missing?" Reid asked, "Why is Emily the reason?"

"Because, as team leader, she had to make all the excuses for Amecci. I'm still not sure how she pulled it off." Phillip said.

"Emily was your boss?" Derek asked, looking at his colleague and the two Chicagoans. "Why didn't we know this?"

"It wasn't relevant to my position within the BAU, was it?" Taking the position in Washington had technically been a lateral move or a step down. But she'd really wanted Behavioral Analysis. "I was Agent in Charge for three years before transferring to Washington. I had six agents on my team—including these two clowns."

"I thought you rode a desk." JJ said.

"Technically, my position was _considered_ a desk job."

"She was always in the field with the rest of us." Tony said. "And it was wonderful. Especially Houston."

"Not with Houston, again." Emily sighed, theatrically. It hadn't been one of her finer moments—and she knew Michaels hadn't put it in her files for transfer. She doubted Hotch—or Strauss—knew about it.

"What about Houston?" Derek asked, intrigued by the insight into a woman who played things close to her chest.

"I remember it quite fondly." Tony said, grinning suggestively. "There is nothing like seeing your supervisor dressed like a hooker, calling out obscenities to another hooker on the corner—in Spanish."

Emily choked on her soda. "Tony! There was much more to Houston than that!"

"Ah, but that's the only part he can remember." Phil said, from Emily's other side. "Of course, he got to be the customer."

"What exactly were you all doing?" JJ asked, a wary—yet amused—look on her face. "Or do I really want to know?"

"We had a human trafficking case that led us to Houston. We needed someone who could blend in with the population in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. The only other women on our team were a blonde and a redhead. And neither one spoke a lick of Spanish." Phil explained. "So Emily went in, Tony—also fluent in Spanish—went as well. I got stuck in a van listening to the entire conversation, my Spanish was passable so I knew what was being said. It was enlightening—I, uh, didn't know Emily _knew_ those terms, let alone how to use them in proper context. The rest of our team was out in different vehicles watching for our UNSUBS."

"So what happened?" Reid asked, enthusiastically, mentally filing the image of Emily in a hooker costume away in his head, right beside the one of her in a tiny red bikini. He might be a genius—but he was also a male. "With the case?"

"Case was a complete and total bust." Tony said, snickering loudly. "We'd misjudged, and were on the wrong corner. But a pimp took a liking to Emily, and told her if she wanted to work that corner—she'd have to pay her dues first. With him. And the son of a bitch was a three hundred pound ex-wrestler who stood six-foot-five."

"I'd almost forgotten that lovely little episode." Emily's tone was dry, as she shook her head ruefully. "Some things just can't remain our little secrets, can they?"

"Nope." Tony snickered. "Anyway, the SOB manages to get Emily into his pimpin' van—I think he picked her up one-handed—before Phil and Stamios could get to her."

"All because _you _weren't where you were supposed to be." Phil reminded him. "You were supposed to have her back. _We_ were two blocks away. Where we were told to be."

"Hey, the damned car wouldn't start. Who was it that requisitioned a 1986 Buick for my pimpin' ride?" Tony demanded. "And didn't make sure the thing was mechanically sound?"

"You did." Phillip answered. "Still, it made for one hell of an interesting twenty-five minute car chase."

"Tell me about it." Emily said, remembering how she had felt in the man's Ford EconoVan. She'd landed on his porn collection when he'd thrown her into the back. It had been well-used and had the biological residue to prove it.

"Obviously, you caught up to them." Derek said. "What happened?"

"Caught up to them? Didn't happen." Phil laughed outright then, before continuing the story. "No. Superwoman here was attempting to overpower the idiot while the car is in motion. And we didn't know it. We're hot on the guy's tail. Me in this big, ugly, early model SUV. Tasia in an old El Camino that was on its last legs, Bellows two cars behind her in, of all things, an Ice Cream truck. Marks was actually on an old Harley, in the stalled lanes. And finally, Tony in an old baby blue Buick—that he'd finally gotten started. Damned if they didn't lead us on this ass-backward route all through downtown Houston."

"Emily pulls the van to a stop right in front of the Houston field office's doors. Hops out and starts berating us for our sloppy driving skills. Said we could have killed somebody." Tony said. "You should have seen the Houston SSA in Charge's face when he realized ,that of all of us—dressed appropriately for an evening on the streets—mind you, the agent in charge of the mess on his front steps was the woman dressed in this _very_ tiny, _very_ red hooker dress! They'd known we were running sting in the area, but didn't know exactly who was involved."

"It was funny to you guys—but I heard it from Michaels for months after that." Emily said. "Thought I would never live it down."

"But you did?" Reid asked.

"She did." Phil said, ruffling her hair. "She was one of the best damned SSAICs I'd ever seen. It was a shame she transferred out. It was a real privilege to work under your command."

"Thanks." Emily leaned her head on his shoulder, more affectionate than her Washington colleagues could ever remember seeing her. "I loved every minute of it—almost."

"You know, Michaels' is always saying he'd love to get you back…if the BAU doesn't work out for you…" Tony said, inelegantly, letting his voice trail. He'd not missed the way she seemed to have changed from the confident, bright, energetic woman who'd had his back on more than one occasion to someone who was nervous and on edge—even though her outer shell didn't show it.

"Thanks, Tony. But I'm happy to stay right where I am." Emily told him, seriously. She'd always wanted the BAU—and now that she'd gotten it, she wasn't looking back.

"And we're more than happy to have her." Hotch said, flatly, coldly.

Emily jerked slightly when she felt his warm hand cover hers under the table.

Tony's brows rose at the man's unspoken threat. "Ok. I'm just sayin…"

INTERIM SEVEN

_Virginia Woolf wrote:_

_Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends._

EMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

Derek watched Emily when she wasn't looking. Watched how she interacted with the two Chicago agents, saw the respect in their eyes when they looked at her. Respect she'd most likely earned. The Bureau had its own hierarchy, and as a young woman moving into a position of authority, it had probably been one hell of a struggle for her. But she'd apparently more than succeeded.

And she'd given it up to work the BAU. He didn't know if he'd have made the same decision, but he was sure as hell glad she had. She filled the hole Elle had left in ways he'd never imagined. She was the perfect piece of their particular puzzle, and she was one of his closest friends. Her and Garcia.

And he both hated and was amused by her sudden skittishness. It had taken him a while to figure out the cause of it, but once he had, it secretly amused him.

What were the odds?

Derek sat back in his seat while the remaining members of the table finished their meals, just watching his two dark-eyed colleagues. Hotch moved his arm behind her back, making more room on the crowded red bench seat. They were plastered together, no space between them, yet Emily held herself slightly stiff. She kept darting glances toward the supervisor, quick, furtive looks that were the only betrayals of her anxiety.

What had Hotch done to set her on edge?

Derek checked out the older man's face, watching the way his eyes would stray to the woman beside him—when she wasn't looking.

Damn, Derek would never have believed it, but he was seeing it with his own two eyes. Hotch was panting after Prentiss. Emily Prentiss was finally an antelope, and the one unexpected lion—the one whom he'd never would have suspected—was Hotch. For a man who Derek thought would never get over his ex-wife, this was a minor miracle.

And one he completely understood. Derek knew Hotch was the type of man who _had _to be with a woman in order to experience any of the softer side of things. Had to be with a woman to forget, just for a little bit, the horrors of the job. Hotch probably identified himself as part of a whole—just like he identified himself with being part of the BAU team; with his ex-wife—the high and mighty Hayley—out of the picture, it did make sense for the man to look for another woman in the very arena where he spent most of his time.

In Derek's opinion, Prentiss was a hell of a better choice for a man like Hotch than Hayley had been. Hell, if Derek could ever see himself settling down with one woman, one of the first—if not _the _first—one he'd look at would be Emily. Why not? Emily—she was smart, funny, and sexy as hell when she let herself go. And he knew from personal experience—a Virginia Beach view he'd never forget—she had one dynamite body under those prim clothes. And was the kind of woman a man didn't mess with unless he was serious.

Morgan hoped Hotch knew that. He'd hate to see Emily—or Hotch—hurt. Not to mention what it would do to the team.

Still, it would be interesting to watch over the next few weeks.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily turned at the knock on her door, "Hey JJ, you ok?"

"You have a minute?" The blonde didn't wait for an answer, coming full into the room, but leaving the door open. She sank onto the bed next to Emily's knees, her purple pajamas clashing with the orange of the hotel comforter.

"Of course, what's up?" Emily set aside the book Steven had given her, and turning toward the younger woman slightly. "Something wrong?"

"Why'd you do it? Leave Chicago?"

"To come to the BAU? I'd always wanted BAU, Jay, from the beginning. When the position opened I put in for it." Emily said, frankly.

"So was it worth it? They love you here, it's more than obvious. You've got a lot of friends here." JJ's words were low and Emily struggled to pin down what was really bothering the younger woman.

"My life here _was_ good, Jay. I worked hard from the first day at the academy and my first here. My team here was more than my family. I was happy here, and respected. But being a team leader was more political than anything, and I hated that. I had to work doubly hard in the office in order to be beside my people in the field. And I belonged in the field. And there is nothing I hate more than politics. Nothing."

"But it was a demotion." JJ said, skeptically. "Coming here."

"Not really. The BAU assignment is a highly coveted assignment."

"But you're happy here, right? I mean, Washington's not like this office. People here are more relaxed, and they apparently think the world of you."

"Compared to my lukewarm reception when I came to the BAU, you mean?" Emily laughed softly, remembering how she'd sat waiting in Hotchner's office for the team to return.

"Something like that?" JJ's face clouded. "You'd not go back, would you? If what he'd said at dinner was true? You'd not leave the BAU?"

"Of course not! Chicago was my place for a while—when I needed it. But I am happy in Washington, JJ. Truly happy. I _do _miss Tony, and Phil, and some of the others, very much. But I have you and Penelope—even Derek. It's good."

"So you'd not want to go back to Chicago?" JJ asked again, seeking reassurance.

"Will won't want to go back to New Orleans, JJ. He loves and cares about you a lot." Emily said, understanding what was behind JJ's questions. "Are _you_ having doubts?"

"About him, about my feelings, about the baby—no, not really. About how happy he'll be away from his friends, everything he's ever known? Big time."

"What's he said?" Emily asked. La Montaigne had seemed totally committed to JJ whenever she'd seen them together. Was JJ suddenly being ruled by her hormones?

"I haven't really asked him." JJ admitted, "I mean, we _know _when we sign on to the bureau we will be transferred if needed, right? Well, Will spent his whole life in Louisiana, he never planned on moving—especially to Washington."

"And you're wondering if you deserve having someone do that for you." Emily nailed it on the head. "He loves you, JJ. You're very lucky."

"I know. But can he stay happy? With me gone all the time, a baby, no friends or family nearby? The BAU isn't exactly conducive to marriage, Em. I mean just look at Gideon, at Rossi, hell, even Hotch."

"True. But JJ, we really don't know exactly what happened within their marriages—any of them." Emily pointed out. "I think if you both work hard at it, there is no reason why either of you should be unhappy."

"So you've never regretted it? Leaving Chicago and going to Washington?"

"Only when I was plotting to deep fry Hotch in a vat of olive oil to thaw him out." Emily snickered. "I found enough oil for a man his size—but not a pot big enough! I had a lot of regrets then!"

"Oh, god, you're awful!" JJ sputtered, as the image of Hotch sitting in an old pot on a stove—with an extremely severe look on his coldly handsome face—popped into her mind.

"Ok, now," Emily said once they'd caught their breath. "You and Will are going to be ok. And I'm going to watch my movie—you're more than welcome to join me."

"Which one?" JJ asked.

"Miss Congeniality, of course. It's full of inaccuracies, but you got to love how she kicks ass." Emily laughed. "Remember, all you have to do is SING!"

"Solar plexus, instep, nose, and groin!" They said together, having watched the movie on more than one occasion. They laughed for a few moments.

"I'm in." JJ said, stretching out over the bed as Emily booted up her laptop.

The older woman was a closet Netflix addict, and only JJ knew her secret.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Hotch's hands were laced behind his head as he lay staring up at the ceiling, thinking.

She'd wanted to fry him in oil. And he wasn't so sure he could blame her.

He'd been on his way to the restroom to clean up for the night when he'd heard JJ go into Emily's room. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop but the younger woman had had an unsettled look on her pretty face as she'd passed him, and he'd been concerned.

On one hand, what he'd heard about Emily's feelings for the BAU reassured him—he was glad she had gotten what she'd wanted, and was happy with her decision. On the other, the whole conversation had reiterated that the one person responsible for any trouble she'd had feeling comfortable with the team—was _him_.

It didn't make his campaign any easier.

Poor JJ—she was a worry, too. He hated that the girl was feeling so insecure, although he knew a good deal of it was the hormones racing through her body. And the changes her life was rapidly undergoing.

But she had Emily, who'd apparently understood exactly what was going on with her tonight. He was glad that the rest of the team felt secure enough to know they could go to Emily if they had a problem.

Unlike him.

He didn't hear her leave her bedroom, but when the light in the bathroom flickered on he turned toward _her _room. When she came back out, he watched her for a moment as she moved soundlessly to the kitchenette.

"Emily?" His voice was low, not wanting to frighten her. "You ok?"

"God! Hotch! You startled me. I thought you were asleep." Emily stuttered out.

"No, I'm having a hard time shutting my mind down." He admitted, rising from his bed. "You?"

"Insomnia. Chocolate craving. The usual. Plus, JJ fell asleep in my bed, and she's taking up the middle." Her words were rueful. The blonde hadn't even lasted half the movie.

"Oh. Is she, uh, ok, now?" Hotch asked, "I heard her talking, earlier."

"I think she was just feeling a little blue." Emily said, smiling softly. "Everything is worrying her, right now."

"She's lucky." Hotch said, moving to stand beside her at the window, in much the same manner as they had last night. The Chicago skyline was beautiful, even with the thunderclouds that were rolling in.

"Yes. Will loves her."

"I meant because she has a good friend. You knew exactly what was bothering her. And helped her through it."

"It wasn't that difficult—occupational hazard, I'd call it." Emily said, dryly. "I'm, uh, sorry about dinner. We were unprofessional talking about all those things."

"I didn't think so." Hotch said, "It's obvious you were well-liked here. You know, I never read your file. At first I was determined you weren't staying, then after that, it wasn't necessary. You'd already proven you were a valuable asset to the team. What was in your file didn't matter—at least to me. You'd already proven you more than belonged."

"Thanks." Where was he going with _this? _Apparently, once Hotch decided to open up to someone, he really _opened up. _

"If I'd known you were plotting to deep fry me," he continued in the same flat voice. "I might have read the file to search for any other prior bad acts."

"You probably would have found some." Emily's lips twitched, realizing he'd heard her joke, earlier. "I'd been accused of being reckless, you know."

"It must have been hard, moving from a leading position to a subordinate." Hotch said. It explained a few things, how sometimes she seemed to struggle holding in insubordinate words—to him. To Erin Strauss. Her _sir _after she'd told him how much she hated politics during the Nathan Harris incident had bordered on the line of disrespectful.

If she hadn't appeared so deeply upset by her own words—and his—he would have called her on it. He'd wondered then about her aversion to politics.

"It took some getting used to. I'll admit it. But I understand the position you'd found yourself in, Hotch. I did. Even been on the other side of the desk before." Emily opened a can of the soda she'd had Morgan bring back from the store for JJ, and took a long drink. "But that was months ago. We're good now."

"Yes, we are." Hotch said, wrapping one hand around her upper arm, left bare by that damned red tank top. Squeezed lightly, pulled her just a little bit closer. "I'm glad you chose the BAU, Emily."

"Me, too." Emily smiled up at him, her shoulder bumping his slightly. Deliberately. "And don't worry, I returned the olive oil. Most of it. The pot, I never did find one big enough."

"I'm, uh, glad." Hotch said. "I probably wouldn't have been good deep fried, anyway. Too gristly. Stir-fried, maybe, or sautéed—those would be better choices. Healthier, too."

Emily snorted with laughter, seeing the spark in his dark eyes in the low lamp light. The man did have a sense of humor, though she'd doubted it at first. It was just very dry, and completely unexpected.

She hoped she'd get to see more of it.

"I'm, uh, going to try to shove JJ over and get some sleep." Emily said, awkwardly. "Good night."

"Hang on. I'll carry her to her room. Let you have your bed back." Hotch said.

"Ok." Emily said, following him into her bedroom, where JJ was sprawled over the center of Emily's bed.

He scooped JJ up like she was a child, tucking her close to his chest. The liaison didn't awaken. Emily led the way to JJ's room and pulled the blankets back. Hotch deposited the blonde in the center of the mattress and Emily removed her slippers and pulled the blankets over her friend.

"Hormones." She whispered. "She'll sleep like the dead for the rest of the night."

"Must be nice." Hotch sighed. "I don't remember the last time I slept through the entire night."

"Me, either." Emily admitted. "Is it weird we live for this job?"

"I ask myself that everyday."

"Me, too." Emily sighed as they left the other woman's room. Returned to the kitchenette. "Hotch—you want to watch a movie? There's no way I can get back to sleep tonight."


	7. Chapter 8

INTERIM EIGHT

_Charlotte Perkins Gilman wrote:_

_There was a time when patience ceased to be a virtue. It was long ago._

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Seven women, over a seven year period. All disappearing within the same two week time span—late May to early June—in what appeared to be sudden, blitz attacks. And the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Dept. had failed to make the connection. Did that many women go missing from the Indianapolis area every year to warrant such an oversight?

Emily sighed as Hotch pulled the glass doors to the Indianapolis field office open. How many more women would have been targeted if it hadn't come to the BAU's notice?

She'd studied the portraits on the plane, wondering about the women on the paper. Wondered why _them? _Tried to get into the UNSUBS head. Was it just women with dark hair? Taller women? Successful, unmarried women? How did he find them? What was his trigger?

All of it flashed through her mind on a continuous reel.

Hopefully these interviews would give them some of the answers they needed.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Of all the things about this job, Hotch thought as he knocked on the door of a pretty blue and white Craftsman home, talking to the loved ones was the part he hated the absolute most. The door swung open, revealing a woman in her mid-fifties, with dark brown hair faintly touched with gray, and empty dark brown eyes.

It was always the eyes that hit Hotch the hardest. They reminded him of his mother the day his father had died. Empty, lifeless—hopeless.

Emma Miller's mother's eyes were no different. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA Emily Prentiss, we're here to ask you some questions about your daughter. May we come in?"

"Emma? Have you found her, my God!" The woman's voice broke, and she pulled the door open further, peering around the dark-haired man on her porch, looking to the dark-haired woman behind him.

"Ma'am," Emily said softly, as she moved out from behind Hotch's right shoulder. Moved so the woman saw her fully. "We've not found your daughter, but we are trying to find out what happened to her."

"Oh, God. Oh God," The woman cried, covering her face with her hands. "Oh my baby!"

Emily raised one hand, touched the woman's shoulder lightly. "Ma'am, we are very sorry about your daughter. But we need your help. Can we come in and talk—anything you can tell us, will help us."

The woman moved then, collapsing on Emily's shoulder, as she cried. To Emily, the grief the woman was suffering was as fresh as if her daughter hadn't been missing a year, as if it had happened only yesterday. She held the woman, rocked her slightly, and looked at Hotch over the woman's head.

His eyes reflected the sympathy that was flooding Emily.

It was a long fifteen minutes before the woman calmed, fifteen minutes spent on the porch of a small bungalow with ceramic cats and a yard gnome on the front lawn. Fifteen minutes of one woman's horrific grief.

It left both Emily and Hotch raw, though neither one let it show.

"You have the same eyes as my girl." The woman suddenly said. "Big, dark. Compassionate."

They didn't know if she was talking to Emily or Hotch, she'd yet to look up from where her head rested against Emily's shoulder. They'd moved her to the porch swing; though old, it was sturdy, supporting both Emily and Mrs. Miller. It creaked as Emily rocked it, a rhythmic song that was soothing in itself. "Tell me about her. About your daughter. What did she liked to do more than anything?"

"She played the piano. And took photographs." The woman laughed softly, remembering. "I gave her a camera, you see. Just an old one-ten, when she was about seven. After that, she always had a camera in her hand. Always."

"What sort of photographs did she prefer? I love shooting in black and white, it's timeless, classic." Emily said, her tone encouraging.

"She loved taking pictures of butterflies, so she always used color. But never digital. No, my baby was old school. She'd spend hours over at the zoo's butterfly exhibit. Gorgeous work."

"My friend JJ adores butterflies. She has a collection that covers her entire living room. I took a few black and whites for her birthday, but I haven't developed them yet. What else did Emma like to do?"

"She liked to take long walks. In the park, around the city, just shooting whatever caught her attention. Very independent, she liked to be alone." The woman nodded. "So we just thought she got distracted. She did that. Anything caught her attention, and there she'd go."

"That day, Mrs. Miller, did you talk to Emma?" Hotch asked, leaning forward in the wicker chair he occupied.

"She told me she was going to the river to take a few shots, the clouds were awesome that day. She hadn't got the chance to go out that day. She worked in a studio, long hours, but it was hers. She worked so hard. Built it from the ground up. Spent all her time there. I worried, told her she'd never have a family, children, if she didn't take the time now."

"What did she say to that?" Emily asked, smiling softly, her hand covering the woman's.

"She told me, 'don't be silly, mother. I'm only thirty-three. Plenty of time for me and Steven to have children.''' Her words were a half sob, but she continued. "Those were the last words I said to my daughter. The last thing I heard her do was laugh."

"Steven?" Hotch asked. "How long had they been together?"

"Four years. He was her partner. They worked together everyday. Were so very close. They just hadn't 'bothered with a piece of paper'. They lived together, I didn't mind. He made her happy. And I liked having them here in the house with me. Kept the silence at bay."

"Where is Steven now?" Emily asked, knowing they'd need to talk to the man.

"He's probably at the studio." The woman sighed. "It hit him hard, Em's disappearance. He goes to work and comes home. Stays in the basement when he's home. That's where their darkroom was. But I don't think he uses it for that anymore. He just sits down there. Just sits, and misses her."

"Mrs. Miller, I promise you, we will do our very best to find out what happened to your daughter." Hotch said. "We may have more questions for you. Is it ok if we call?"

"Yes. I want to know, Agent Hotchner. One way or the other, I want to know." She turned her palm up, and squeezed Emily's hand where it held hers.

Hotch looked at her, parent to parent. "I understand."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

"These are some seriously beautiful works." Emily said, peering at the framed portrait of a butterfly on the wall. "Serious talent. Maybe I should try shooting in color occasionally."

"How often do you take photos?" Hotch asked, as they waited for Steven Lucas. They were currently in the lobby of the studio he'd shared with Emma Miller. The studio was immaculate, not a hair out of place. It was classy, professional, and a little sterile.

All the better to accentuate the framed pieces on the walls.

"Not often enough." Emily admitted, "Especially since transferring to Washington. Just no time."

"That frame in your condo, by the door. That one of yours?" He'd seen it briefly when he'd gone to her place to convince her not to resign. The piece was a beautiful, elegant, monochromatic shot.

"One of my first pieces." Emily admitted. "I remember how excited I was when I developed it. Now, I can see what's wrong with it—composition, framing, lighting…but I'll never take it down."

"I understand." Hotch nodded, moving slightly closer to look at the photograph in front of her.

"It was one of her last." A male voice rasped from behind them. "The last roll she developed before she was gone. It deserved to be displayed."

Emily and Hotch turned to see a man around their own age standing in the lobby. He was equally as tall as Hotch, and had similar coloring. He wore a suit—sans jacket—but the cotton wasn't pressed, and his shirt was slightly untucked. To Emily, he looked too sloppy to be in this chic boutique.

"Jolene called me. Said you'd been to her house and you had questions."

"I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We've just got a few questions." Hotch shook the man's hand, and Emily repeated the gesture.

Mr. Lucas lingered a little longer on her face than he had Hotch's. Hotch didn't miss it. Lucas smiled sadly before saying, "You have similar features. To my Emma."

"Mr. Lucas, we are sorry for what you've gone through." Emily told him, finally pulling her hand from his. "But we need to know everything you can tell us about the week before Emma went missing."

"It's been a year, Agent Prentiss." Steven Lucas said, bluntly. "If the police couldn't find Emma then, what makes you think you can find her now."

"We think Emma may have been the victim of a serial abductor. We are trying to find him, and stop him before he hurts anyone else." Hotch said.

"What can I do for you? What do you want to know?" He sank down into a chair, dropping his elbows to his knees. "I don't know what good this will do."

"Everything you can tell us about that last week, that last day especially will help us find who took her." Hotch said. "She went missing on a Thursday. What can you tell me about the weekend before. What did you do?"

"That weekend, we went down to Bloomington." He looked out the window, remembering. "Lake Monroe. There's a small cliff there that she loved to take shots of. That one there."

He pointed to a framed print behind Emily's head.

"Did anything strange happen?" Emily asked.

"Strange, no. We hiked, we laughed. Talked about getting a dog. She told me she wanted to try to raise a dog before we made the big jump to having a baby. Wondered what her mother would say if we brought a St. Bernard into the house. She was always laughing. Always. Everything thrilled her. She had such a joy for everything. You know what I mean, Agent Hotchner?" He looked directly at Hotch, before turning toward the dark-haired woman on his left, leaned closer. "We got home late, Bloomington is a good hour and a half drive."

"What about the next day?" Emily urged.

"We worked, went home, made dinner, and slept. It was like a hundred other days."

"And then?" Hotch asked, drawing the man's eyes away from Emily, yet again.

"It was the same."

"And the day she disappeared? Can you tell us about that?" Emily asked.

"She left before I did. I was push processing a roll. A special project for a client. Emma wanted to go to the store, wanted chocolate. She loved chocolate. I kissed her, told her I'd see her at home. She laughed and said I'd probably beat her there—she might stop at the Botanical Gardens over by the zoo, the river. But that she loved me and would see me at home. Told me to make spaghetti. Said she wanted Italian. I never saw her again, Agent Hotchner."

"Thank you for talking to us, Mr. Lucas. We're going to do the very best we can to find out what happened to your Emma. I promise you that." Hotch spoke as he rose, a move echoed by the other two. "We may have a few more questions, in the next few days. If that 's all right with you."

"I want to find her." Steven said, shaking Hotchner's hand. Then Emily's. He didn't release hers. "You do have similar features, Agent Prentiss. It's odd."

"We're sorry for what happened to her, Mr. Lucas." Emily said, "Thank you for speaking with us."

"Whatever I can do to find my Emma—I will."

EMILYHOTCHEMILYTHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

They had one more interview to do before they could return to the field office, and it went much as the last one had. Mr. Walter Edwin had been devastated by the disappearance of his girlfriend of ten years. She'd went to the store and had never returned. The police had been reluctant to even consider her as a missing person. She'd worked as a surveyor and would be gone for days at a time. They'd thought there'd been a miscommunication. Until she hadn't shown back up in a month. They'd waited a month to even begin searching, and by then the trail had gone completely cold.

"A woman goes missing, and they don't even start looking for her for a _month_? What the hell, Hotch?" Emily was perturbed, and her voice echoed it, as Hotch opened the door to the little eatery they'd found three blocks from the field office.

"I know. It was sloppy and inefficient. Plus they hadn't connected the crimes yet." Hotch placated, as they slid into opposite sides of the booth. A waitress with curly red blond hair bustled over to take their drink orders and give them menus. "Emma Miller and Alana Carter were both independent women, who went places by themselves frequently."

"Yes." Emily said, "So what are you getting at?"

He paused long enough to give the waitress his order, and Emily did the same. "All of these women were successful. Highly motivated and independent. If he was a blitzer, like Preatt, how would he manage to get the same type of woman each time?"

"My God, Hotch. He's stalks them." Emily realized. "Watches their every move—knows their schedules, then when there is an opening, moves in and grabs."

"Exactly—so what do we know about stalkers?" Hotch asked.

"They stalk for three reasons—love, jealousy, vengeance—for the most part. They most likely suffer from varying forms of paranoid personality disorder, dependent personality disorder, or obsessive compulsive disorder—if not more. Most are in their thirties and forties—which fits with the age range of the victims—twenty-nine to forty-two. Obsessional crimes are more Morgan's area than mine."

They discussed the case a little more, than paused to enjoy their meals. Once back outside in the warm Indiana weather, they continued their discussion as they walked back to the company issue SUV.

"We need to find out where he first sees these women, Hotch." Emily said.

"If it was at a public place, there might be a credit trail. I'll have Garcia run down a list of all the victims' last receipts for the month prior to their disappear—" He trailed off as they neared the vehicle. Hotch unholstered his weapon and motioned for her to do the same. Just in case.

"What is it?" She whispered. Then she saw what he had.

The front window was busted—big circular strike marks surrounded by spider webbing. Someone had hit the vehicle extremely hard—with intense rage. All four tires were deflated, holes slashed out of the rubber completely.

Whomever had done it had been seriously pissed off, and Emily couldn't help but wonder who they had angered so badly just by eating in a restaurant. It just didn't make any sense.

INTERIM NINE

_Thomas Berry wrote:_

_There is an ultimate wildness in all this, for the universe, as existence itself, is a terrifying as well as a benign mode of being. If it grants us amazing powers over much of its functioning we must always remember that any arrogance on our part will ultimately be called to account. The beginning of wisdom in any human activity is a certain reverence before the primordial mystery of existence, for the world about us is a fearsome mode of being. We do not judge the universe._

DEREKMORGANDEREKMORGANDEREKMORGAN

"So how are we gonna do this?" Tony Amecci asked, as he and Morgan approached the first house on their list. Amecci hated talking to victims' families, and he always tried to avoid it, if possible. Today, it wasn't possible. "I don't do a lot of family interviews, man. I leave it to my partner, Tasia."

"Wasn't that one of the people mentioned the other night? At Spinelli's?"

"My partner. Her and Em were pretty close. No other team leader really wanted Stamios." Tony added, "Em gave her a shot, she's not forgotten that. I'm sure she'll be pretty upset to have missed Em-ee-lee."

Morgan knocked on the door, and the conversation ended and was quickly forgotten. The man who answered was a good five years older than Morgan. He was dressed sedately, khaki's and polo, both pressed perfectly. His dark hair was combed neatly to one side, and wire-framed glasses covered his dark brown eyes. "Can I help you?"

"James Edding? I'm SSA Derek Morgan, and this is SSA Tony Amecci. We're here to talk to you about the disappearance of Amanda O'Neil."

"I've already talked to you guys over and over. It hasn't done any good. Why now?"

Morgan took control of the interview, but they learned nothing helpful, just that Amanda O'Neil, successful caterer, had disappeared one night after locking her company down for the night. She was just gone.

He knocked on the door of the second house a little after two in the afternoon. The man who answered was a severe man. His black hair was parted starkly over his right temple and brushed ruthlessly down. His eyes were a dark brown, equally as cold as Hotch's—a detail that lodged itself in Derek's brain. The man's suit was something the BAU leader would have worn, as well.

"Mr. Powers, we're here to ask you some questions about the disappearance of Margo Jenkins. May we come in?" Morgan and Amecci flashed their badges.

"I have twenty minutes before I have to leave for court. Can you make it as fast as possible?" The man's voice was flat and Derek had a hard time reading him. It made him on edge.

"Can you tell us about the week before Ms. Jenkins disappeared." Derek cut right to the chase.

"It was the week between Christmas and New Years." The man's voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. "We had a case—she was one hell of an attorney, Agent Morgan—but it unexpectedly wrapped up, early. I went to the office to file the paperwork. She wasn't feeling well—wanted some damned chocolate. So she drove the Lexus to the store. They found the car. Found her chocolate. Never found her."

"Mr. Powers, I am sorry for what you've experienced. What about that week, did anything out of the ordinary happen?" Morgan asked, trying to diver the man from his loss. "Anything that struck you as odd?"

"The SUV." The man said, "Three days before, someone took a ball bat to the windshield of my Explorer. Then sliced the tires. I filed a report, but it happened outside the courthouse, in a public parking lot. The police just assumed it was a pissed-off defendant. I work for the prosecutors' office. So did Margo. Everyone just assumed someone from our past cases took her, but we never could find out who."

"Thank you for talking with us today." Morgan said, shaking the man's hand. "We are sorry to have to dredge this all up."

"Agent Morgan, if by some chance you _do _catch the son-of-a-bitch who took her, make him pay."

"I'll do the very best I can."

THEGREATGODDESSGARCIATHEGREATGODDESSGARCIA

"Hello, beautiful." Kevin's breath whispered across Penelope's neck, and she jumped, shivering.

"Kevin! What have I told you about that?" She shrieked, spinning in her chair.

"I know, but you are just so beautiful." He looked sweet and abashed and she had to forgive him. "I wanted to bring you this. I know you don't like to leave the office when your team is out. And I thought you might be hungry."

"You are the most wonderful man on earth!" She took the box with its wonderful smells of sesame chicken and lo mien wafting out. "You have been a very good boy, and will be rewarded later!"

Before he could reply, her phone rang. "Penelope Garcia, goddess of the information highway speaking, to which cyber-city can I direct your call?"

She waved Kevin out of the office, and he grinned, before she shut the door in his face with a big wink. Then she spoke into the phone. "Hey you! Anything good happening over your way?"

"Hey, baby-girl. I need you to do me a favor."

"For you, anything." She spoke around a mouthful of Chinese. "Well, almost anything. Anything is reserved for Kevin."

"TMI, Pen. TMI." Derek said. "But as long as he treats my girl right, it's none of my business!"

"Right-o. So what do you need?"

"I need police reports for vandalism for a Mr. Joshua Powers and Margo Jenkins. Then I need you to check in the names of the four other Michigan victims and their partners. Fax the information to JJ and Reid and the Chicago office."

"Will do, oh dark god of the night." She swallowed another big bite. "Now I'm going to finish this wonderful food, Garcia over and out!"

DRSPENCERREIDDRSPENCERREIDDRSPENCERREID

"Hotch just called." JJ told Reid as he entered the conference room, followed by Agent Coombs. "Someone took a ball bat to their SUV while they were eating lunch. Slashed the tires, too. Hotch is _pissed."_

"They have any ideas who it was?" Reid asked, puzzled. "Why they'd do it?"

"Not a clue. Unless it was just random vandalism. But Hotch thinks there's too much rage behind it." JJ said, accepting the mug of hot chocolate the redheaded agent handed her. She'd had to find a substitute for coffee—the smell had nearly killed her since finding out about the baby. "Still, I'm glad their interviews are over—they'll be back today."

"Did they find anything useful?" Coombs asked.

"All of their victims, worked in some capacity with the men they were dating. Most were partners, and _all _were career-oriented and damned good at their jobs. And they think the UNSUB stalked the victims before blitzing them at weak moments."

"That's it?" Coombs' skepticism showed. "How does that help us?"

"Actually, it helps us a lot. Stalkers generally follow certain profiles—and the type of victims tells us that he most likely resents successful couples, or at least the women. The stressor was most likely a dark haired woman who was highly successful, motivated, and independent. They most likely worked together." Reid said excitedly. "But he has to find the woman and watch her for a while, meaning someone may have noticed him. Of course, most stalkers are highly intelligent, and can cover their presence rather well."

Before anyone else could comment JJ's phone rang. "Jareau, hey Derek. You find anything? Ok. I'll keep an eye on the fax machine. You'll be back in a few hours? Good. Hotch and Emily are already on their way. See you soon. Bye."

"What he'd find?" Reid asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly. "Anything probative?"

"He's faxing a few police reports. And some other stuff. Should be here in a few minutes." JJ said, she stood and moved closer to the bulletin board, a stack of photos in her hand. It was what she and Reid had been working on all day, in between interviews with the families of the four Chicago victims. They'd found similar information to Hotch and Emily—all their victims were successful at their jobs, and were deeply involved with their romantic partners. JJ started pinning 8 x 10's of the boyfriends/fiances to the board beneath the victims, starting with the Chicago. Morgan had had Garcia email JJ photos of Mr. Powers, and the other Detroit men.

Reid stared at the portraits as JJ pinned them—nine men stared back. "JJ."

"Yeah, Spence," JJ wasn't really looking at the pictures, just making sure she had the right man beneath the right victim. So she didn't see what Reid did. "What is it?"

"Come here, look."

"Ok, what?" She asked, moving to stand beside him, as Coombs stood and moved closer. "What is it?"

"What do you notice about each of those men?" Reid asked, one hand on her shoulder, the other pointing at the bulletin.

"Brown and brown." JJ's voice was flat. "They've all got brown and brown. Male and female."

"So the men were part of the victimology, too." Reid said, excited. This was a _big_ step forward.

"Now we just need to get with Hotch and Emily and make sure their victims follow the same pattern." JJ said, as the sound of the fax machine whirred through the room. "Here's Derek's faxes."

The stack of papers was thick and it took quite a while to sort them into appropriate piles for each victim. JJ pinned each report under the victims, then picked up her phone. "Garcia, I need you to check police reports in the weeks before each disappearance—both Chicago and Indianapolis. Thanks."

Reid waited until she disconnected. "What are you getting at?"

"Each of the Detroit victims were also the victims of petty vandalism within the week of disappearance, Reid." JJ said, motioning to a row of police reports pinned to the bulletin board. "Vehicles and/or places of business."

"So Garcia's running the other victims." Reid stated.

"I don't get it." Coombs questioned. "Why wasn't this noticed before?"

"Most of the victims worked in slightly higher crime areas," Reid said, thinking it through as he spoke, "And each city had only one disappearance each year. The vandalisms were apparently just secondary. I mean, a lawyer's car being bashed with a ball bat—or the tires sliced, isn't an unheard of occurrence."

"I guess not." Coombs said. "Why would this guy do that? I mean, and risk getting caught? It doesn't make sense."

"He can't help himself." Reid began, "He has to do it, for whatever reason. It's part of his signature, the one thing he cannot change, no matter what. Compulsion."

"So where do we go from here?" Coombs asked.

"Wait until the rest of the team is here." JJ said, "Wait on Garcia's information. Put it all together, then identify this bastard."

THEBAUTHEBAUTHEBAUTHEBAUTTHEBAUTHEBAU

The Detroit pair arrived two hours before the Indianapolis pair was scheduled to land. Garcia had come through, as always, with a list of police reports, and driver's license photos for all the victims' partners. JJ and Reid had them all pinned up in appropriate places, and were just waiting with Derek and the two Chicago agents to arrive.

"So this guy stalks his victims—and we can consider the men as part of the victimology." Derek said, while they waited on Emily and Hotch. "Attacks their vehicles—most likely as misplaced rage against the male in the equation. The driver's sides of each vehicle were much more damaged than the passenger."

"So how does that mean the male is the one he's raging against?" Amecci asked.

"Typically, the male partner in a relationship does the majority of the driving." JJ answered. "So by damaging the driver's side, he was targeting the male."

"So why successful dark-eyed guys?" Amecci asked, his own dark eyes puzzled. "Or couples, rather."

"Maybe you're on to something." Reid said, moving to the bulletin board. "Look at the pictures of the men, then look at the women. The men have very little variance in appearance. They've all got extremely dark hair, right? Even similar hair styles. But the women's range from medium brown to black. The same with the men's eyes. All are darker brown, but the women's go from light brown to dark."

"So are you saying the men are the real targets?" Amecci asked. "So why take the women?"

"To make the men suffer." Coombs said, bluntly. "If someone were to take my wife, it would break me. Completely. I'd rather they killed me, then take her away. Hurt her in any way."

"Exactly." Morgan said, quietly. "This guy isn't just taking the women for some sexual reason—he's doing it to make their partners suffer."

Morgan's phone rang and he answered, before putting it on speaker.

"Hey my little crime fighters, and baby-JJ, here's what I found. _All_ the victims worked closely with their partners and all had vehicles vandalized approximately four days before their disappearance. And all the men were within the ages of thirty-eight and forty-three. A much smaller age window then the female victims."

"Thanks, Garcia." Morgan said, then disconnecting the phone after hearing the dial tone.

Before anyone else could speak, Morgan looked up and caught sight of Emily through the glass window. Two feet behind her, Hotch carried his ready bag in one hand, his suit jacket in the other. Emily looked over her shoulder at him, and said something, to which the man replied, a small, rare smile touching his coldly severe face.

Morgan's eyes left the couple and briefly touched the bulletin board. He ran his gaze over each of the sixteen victims and their partners' faces in the next row—mind quickly cataloging the dark hair and the dark eyes. Cataloging his colleagues' dark hair and dark eyes.

He jerked around to face the couple as they opened the glass doors to the conference room.

"Hey, what have you all found?" Emily asked, smiling in greeting. It took her a minute to realize everyone was staring at her and Hotch intensely. "What?"

"Dammit!" Morgan cursed, his fist rapping against the tabletop.

"Morgan?" Hotch's brows rose, surprised. "Is there something we've missed?"

"Yeah." JJ said, voice trembling almost imperceptivity. "You two are the next targets."

INTERIM TEN

_"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."  
__**-- Frank Herbert**_

"Excuse me?" Hotch asked, putting his ready bag beneath the table. "What have we missed?"

"You and Emily fit the victimology, for the most part." JJ said, motioning to the board.

"Why Hotch?" Emily asked, moving to look at the board.

"Every victim worked with—or was involved with—a man with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, between the ages of thirty-eight and forty-two. Similar manner of dress and all successful in their careers." Morgan said. "And _all _had their vehicles vandalized—ball bat and knife—with more damage on the drivers' sides."

"Your SUV—where was the damage concentrated?" Amecci asked, absently handing Emily a bag of Reese's pieces he'd opened. It was a habitual gesture that no one really missed. "Your side or Em-ee-lee's?"

"Driver's." Hotch admitted, seeing their reasoning. "What else have you got, Morgan?"

"All the victims worked with their domestic partners." Morgan answered. "All the couples were successful, career-oriented. Mostly white collar professionals. It's possible this guy saw you two in Indianapolis and decided you fit what he was looking for."

"We've established that he stalks the victims first." Reid began. "But in this case, maybe he realizes that you're chasing _him._ So he's devolving, quickly. You've forced him to change. Break pattern._"_

"So he's turned the tables, and decided that you two are next." Amecci said. "He's hunting you while you're hunting him."

"So he's seen us."Emily said, bluntly, arms crossed in front of her chest, as she paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board. Everyone could see her obvious agitation. No one mentioned it. "But where?"

"In Indianapolis—airport, convenience store, field office, restaurant, the Millers, Lucas's studio, and the Trueblood's, and Fielding's. Three other interviews were done at the field office." Hotch said, flatly. No one would guess he had a knot in his stomach as he watched her move. How much he hated knowing she was upset, worried. "Those were the only places we went. So he'd have to have been watching the victims' houses to have seen us. But all of those women have been missing a year or more. Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he wants to see how much the men are suffering." Coombs suggested, hesitantly. He was the only one in the group who was currently married. "Maybe he gets some sort of thrill?"

"That would fit with why he victimizes the women. The women varied much more than the men." Morgan said. "Career choices, physical appearance, hobbies—they were all over the scale. But the men—they all had several characteristics in common. Most were reserved—even cold."

"Tall, lean, clean-cut." Emily added, thinking of the men they'd interviewed in Indy. "Dressed conservatively. Serious natured, more than reserved."

"Most of the ones we interviewed were emotionally dependent upon the women in their lives. Nothing that stood out, mind you. But it was obvious the women were a bit more expressive than the men." JJ said.

"But what does that tell us?" Morgan asked, moving closer to Emily as she stood staring at the bulletin board. He knew she wasn't really seeing the photographs, that she was lost in thought somewhere inside that head of hers. He'd seen Reid do it before, too.

"That the UNSUB doesn't really know how to express himself emotionally." Hotch said, bluntly, moving to Emily's other side. "Maybe that's why his own relationship failed. Maybe he killed his partner, maybe she left him—either way, he blames himself. So he is striking out at men who have what he had, who remind him of himself and what he lost. And taking from them what he lost to replace her."

"So how do we find him?" Amecci said, not lost to the undercurrents that had briefly touched the other man's words. "Look for cold white guys who are emotionally stunted?"

"Somebody has seen this guy. And we have a definite pattern of chronology." Emily said, one hand raised toward the board. "Chicago disappearances are always between December 15 and January 1. Indianapolis are always between May 15 and June 1. And Detroit, always August 15 to September 1. Always, one a year. For the last seven years. Guys—if he's stuck to the pattern, and seven women are missing from Indianapolis, we should have more bodies in Detroit and Chicago."

"Three more in Chicago and two in Detroit." JJ said. "And someone is about to go missing in Indianapolis _this _week. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." Hotch said. "We may have to warn the public in Indianapolis."

"And say what? If you have dark hair and eyes and your girlfriend does too, watch out for a homicidal maniac?" Amecci asked. "Will that work? And what if this guy really has targeted Emily? Then what?"

"She goes absolutely nowhere alone." Hotch said, looking directly at her. "Not even to the vending machines in search of Reese's peanut butter cups."

"Gotcha. I'll send Derek." Emily said, nodding. Who was she to argue? She was far from stupid, and knew better than to wander around a hotel when someone had potentially targeted her for murder. "I'm not too eager to meet this guy."

"Why does he have a pattern—Chicago, Indianapolis, Detroit?" Coombs asked, puzzled. "It has to be significant, right? I mean, does he plan it every year, does he travel to those cities every year? Or is he just already there?"

"My guess is he's already there. While it's possible he drives between the three, I'd put my money on the fact that he lives in the areas at the times of disappearances. How else can he be guaranteed of appropriate victims if he's not in the area to find them?" Morgan answered.

"So what would put you in the area at Christmas time, end of Spring, and beginning of the fall?" Emily asked, something niggling her brain. "Christmas break, spring break, summer break? No. Timing is a little off. But not if—it's the end of school terms!"

"What?" JJ asked. "What is?"

"Think. Colleges. Semesters usually end before Christmas, before June first, and the summer terms before September first." Emily said. "But why three different locations?"

"He teaches at three different locations." Reid suddenly said. "Maybe doing a visiting lecturer rotation between the three cities."

"Morgan, call Garcia. Have her run a list of all lecturers working in the three cities. Cross-referencing the times specified. Focus on white males, between thirty-five and forty-five, who are divorced or unmarried." Hotch ordered. "Tell her we specifically need to place the individuals in the cities at the appropriate times. Have her check all missing persons for the time frames, any woman who might fit the pattern—successful, white collar. Everyone else—it's been a long day, I suggest we head back to the hotel."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily was silent for most of the ride back to the hotel. JJ kept shooting her worried looks, as did Hotch. Reid and Morgan—crammed in on either side of JJ—carried on a low conversation, but they, too, were concerned.

Emily paid them no attention, instead, just working out what she had to in her head—trying to push her feelings ruthlessly into neat little compartments.

"We need to know how he takes them." She said, quietly. All conversation stopped, as the team turned to her. "Find where he saw them."

"We'll do that first thing in the morning. I want JJ to hold a press conference, as well." Hotch said, as he maneuvered the vehicle around a corner. "You and I will not be on screen."

"There's got to be something." She sighed, looking out her window at the passing Chicago streets.

"We'll find it." He said. It was as if it was only them in the vehicle and no one—especially Derek—had missed it. "In the morning."

"Yes." Emily said, her words flat.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

They ordered in, Chinese this time. Emily played with her lo mien, not having much of an appetite, but the only one to notice was Hotch. He noticed everything about her now. And he hated knowing she was upset, and hiding it.

She buried her emotions so deeply, that he doubted she'd know how to react any other way.

Not that he was too thrilled knowing they fit the profile. Knowing they'd most likely been targeted. Knowing that he really didn't know where the threat was coming from, and therefore couldn't guarantee her absolute safety.

But he knew how to do his job, and that was the best way to find this son of a bitch before he could get anywhere near Emily.

And he'd make damned sure to catch the bastard.

GARCIAGARCIAGARCIAGARCIA

Penelope worked through the night, no breaks, no disturbances. She just worked. The rest of the team might be the more traditional superheroes but when it came down to it, they couldn't do their jobs without the information she provided.

She was damned important in the greater scheme of things—and she knew it.

And she was determined to find out what she could on this monster before he so much as breathed in Emily's—or Hotch's—direction. Nobody threatened her family. Nobody.

She didn't even look up when Kevin knocked on her office door, just told him she was busy and couldn't leave. Didn't even look up to see if he left.

He didn't. He sank down into the spare chair she kept in her office, and watched her work. He loved watching her in the midst of a technical information odyssey. It was beautiful, it was mind-boggling. It was totally awesome. He was so glad they'd met—although he hated _how _they'd met and the reasons behind it.

"Penelope?" He said, after watching her for nearly an hour.

"Oh God!" She jumped. "You're still here! Why are you still here?"

"I drove you to work this morning, remember? Esther is having her annual check-up, remember?" Kevin said, stuttering slightly. "I couldn't just leave you to find your own way home whenever. It isn't safe!"

"Oh. Yeah. I don't think I will be going home tonight."

"Why?"

"This monster is after my Emily." Penelope's voice broke. "She and Hotch fit the victimology, and they think he's seen her. Hotch needs me to find the connection. Help keep her safe. And I am going to find that connection. I can't be distracted. I can't."

"Can I help?" Kevin asked.

"Can you help?" Penelope had never even considered it. She was used to doing her part of the job alone. Always. "I don't know."

"I can read, take notes, watch screens? Anything. You don't have to do it alone, tonight."

"Ok." Penelope's voice was hesitant, like a young girl's. It made Kevin smile. "Hotch wants me to analyze the victims' credit receipts for the two months prior to their disappearances. You can help."

"Ok." Kevin shrugged, and moved his chair up to a screen. He didn't mind helping her with something like this—it was important, and they were doing it together. She trusted him, and that meant all the world to the computer analyst.

What more could a man ask for?

KEVINLYNCHKEVINLYNCHKEVINLYNCH

"Chocolate." Kevin said, nearly four hours later.

"What? No, not now." Penelope said distractedly, not looking at him.

"No. That's the common element." Kevin said, excitedly. Penelope looked up at him. "There was always chocolate. Always, exactly two days before the car was vandalized. Always."

"That's it? Chocolate?" Penelope was as puzzled as Kevin. "I'll send the information to Hotch, along with the lists of lecturers common to Detroit, Chicago, and Indianapolis."

"That's it." Kevin said, shrugging. "So what is the significance of chocolate?"

"That question is best left to the profilers, my sexy GUI man." Penelope smiled, relaxing some. "Hopefully they'll figure it out in the morning, and will be on their way back here safe and sound quicker than a jiffy."

EMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

Emily missed Kurt. His purring always helped drown out the nightmare residue that clouded her mind. Tonight she couldn't shake them off. And she couldn't go wondering the hotel, not with Hotch's edict ringing in her ears.

Not that she was stupid enough to leave the hotel room alone with what had happened. She wasn't some dumb character from a slasher movie. The one who always wandered away at the stupidest, most dangerous time. The one who always wondered why she was the one to die.

That definitely wasn't Emily. She was the smart one, the one who survived. Did whatever it took.

And she definitely was a survivor.

This son of a bitch was not going to get her, and she knew the best way to stop him was by identifying him.

Still, that didn't help her sleep at three a.m.

And with Emily, the weak point was always three a.m., always.

She crept into the kitchen as silently as she could, not wanting to wake the man sleeping on the pullout. The window blinds were open, and the room was flooded with dim, blue light from the signs below. It was enough to outline his athletic body in sweats and t-shirt.

He must have sensed her presence, for he rolled onto his back and his eyes popped open. He immediately focused on her, nearly ten feet away. "Emily?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted some soda." She whispered, feeling the awkwardness associated with Hotch once again.

"Insomnia?" Hotch sat up, the t-shirt pulling across his chest, hinting at the toned body beneath. "Want to talk a while?"

"Not really." Emily said, moving to sink down onto the foot of his bed. "I don't have much to say."

"I know." Hotch moved to sit beside her, tried not to think of how good she smelled, how rumpled she looked, how all he wanted to do was put his arms around her and hold her to him.

Just once. Just for a little bit. Until she felt a little better.

Just like he had in a New York hospital chapel.


	8. Chapter 9

INTERIM ELEVEN

_**George Burns said, **__  
There will always be a battle between the sexes because men and women want different things. Men want women and women want men._

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily sat beside him, not speaking, not moving, just staring toward the window and the night sky.

"Emily?" Hotch's voice was soft, but showed no sign of hesitancy. "We'll find this guy."

"Before another woman goes missing?" Emily sighed, "Dammit, Hotch. _We _know what's out there, who this guy is gunning for. And we can take care of ourselves—and I am still scared. But what if it's someone else who disappears? They won't know what we do, and…"

"It sucks. Stinks. But, honey, all we can do is our jobs." The endearment escaped without either one of them noticing. He wrapped one hand around her arm, pulled her slightly closer. She didn't resist, didn't think to. Things were changing fast between them, and she just couldn't seem to care. It was kind of nice, and he was comforting. "We'll do the press conference tomorrow. Hopefully, that will scare him off. Buy us enough time to catch up to him."

"I know. The logical part of me knows." Emily said, hesitantly. She wasn't used to sharing her thoughts, her feelings, with anyone, with the possible exception of Morgan. Never Hotch, though. "But the other part…"

"The one who rules the three a.m. world?" Hotch said, "I know. I've laid awake many a night just wondering."

"Yes." Emily pulled her knees to her chest. "How long have you been doing this? A dozen years? Does it ever get any easier?"

"No." Hotch admitted, leaning his shoulder against her smaller one. "It never does."

"Great." She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I think I'll head back to bed, maybe watch a movie."

"Want to watch one out here?" Hotch asked. "I doubt I'll be able to sleep for a while anyway."

"Sure." She didn't really want to be alone, either. So if that meant watching another movie with her supervisor, she would.

JJJAREAUJJJAREAUJJJAREAU

JJ hated the morning. Always had, but being pregnant made that hatred a little more developed. Still, it also made her the first one up the following morning. After doing her duty to the god of morning sickness—and it was definitely a male deity, a female wouldn't do that to another woman—she went in search of chocolate pudding. She loved chocolate pudding and Emily made doubly sure she had plenty of it on away cases. JJ thanked God almost every day that he'd seen fit to send the older woman to replace Elle. Emily was a great friend.

What JJ didn't expect to see was that great friend sound asleep beside their supervisor, the home screen to a DVD showing on the large TV in the corner.

Emily was curled on her side, one hand thrown over Hotch's chest, fisted over his shoulder. Her knees were tucked up between them, keeping the pose from being too scandalous, but his arm was behind her, dipping dangerously low on the older woman's spine.

He lay flat on his back, his free arm splayed over his eyes. The blanket was tangled between them. JJ moved a little closer, unsure whether she should wake Emily up or not.

What would she say? _What the hell had happened between them? Way to go, Em? What? Since when did Emily voluntarily get __**that **__close to the supervisor—whom she'd once described to JJ as a cold, unemotional, frozen, automaton who'd probably give a Yeti frostbite? Wow._

Whatever had happened that night in the hospital chapel—after Will had told Hotch Emily was alone, and JJ knew all about that restroom conversation—had certainly brought about a doozy of a change between the two most reserved team members.

But should JJ wake them?

The matter was taken out of JJ's hands when Hotch's arm moved and his dark eyes popped open. JJ jumped, startled.

"JJ." He said, in acknowledgment before turning toward the woman beside him. "I guess we fell asleep."

"Guess so." JJ said, feeling stupid and awkward. "The, uh, bathroom's free."

"Great. I'll be out in a bit. You want to wake her up while I take a shower?" They both knew, from long plane rides and numerous hotel stays, that it took a while for Emily to move from being asleep to being awake. And it wasn't a pleasant journey.

"Yeah. I'll do that." JJ watched as he rolled out of the bed and stood, stretching. She had to admit, that for a man around the age of forty, Aaron Hotchner was in pretty damned good shape. Especially when dressed in t-shirt and sweats. She almost couldn't blame Emily for snuggling up to _that_.

JJ's hormones were doing _strange _things to her body, and making her think strange things.

She sighed as she heard the suite's bathroom door close. She leaned down and grabbed her friend's shoulder. "Em, It's time to wake up."

"I don't want to." The brunette rolled fully on her stomach and wrapped her arms around Hotch's pillow completely. Snuggled it closer. "Go away."

"Can't. We have a bad guy to catch today, remember?" JJ's mouth quirked, this was something she'd seen before. Done before. Said before. "Care to tell me why you were in bed with Hotch? Anything I should know about?"

"Huh?" Came from the bed, and JJ watched as Emily's body tensed when her question sank in. The matted curls moved and Emily's head shot up, much like a turtle's, and she scanned her surroundings, blurry-eyed. "Hell."

"Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do." JJ snickered as Emily shot up quickly, nearly rolling off the edge of the pullout. "What happened in here, young lady?"

"I got up to go to the bathroom. I think. He was awake, we talked, watched a movie. I guess we fell asleep." Emily worked it out verbally, trying to remember if anything else had happened she needed to be aware of. "I think that's all."

"Wow. Emily slept with Hotch." JJ teased, then retreated when the older woman glared at her. "Relax, there was plenty of space between you when I woke up. And it's not like you haven't slept beside him before. _And _you were a hell of a lot closer to him then than you were this morning. And who cares, right? I mean, we've _both—_hell, all three of us, if you count Pen—fallen asleep on Derek. At the same time. It happens."

"Relax, then." Emily nodded as she spoke. "You've made perfect sense. It was no big deal."

"Right. No big deal."

"And our secret." Emily's glare told JJ not to argue.

But that didn't stop her from laughing.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Hotch knew she felt the awkwardness between them and he laughed inwardly as they approached the conference room. At least he knew she was now _aware _that things between them _could_ change.

And in most instances of a single woman and a single man, when the dynamics changed between them—there would be a sexual component involved. Added.

As a profiler, she had to know that. Had to know how and why things were getting so strange between them. A part of him wanted to just confront her with his changing feelings, to just state it, get it out in the open and move forward from there. Caveman, primal, and primitive—he just wanted to grab her, back her against the nearest wall, and show her _exactly _what his changing feelings wanted him to do. To her, with her.

But the civilized man inside him reminded him that that approach probably wouldn't go over too well with her. Not her, with her independent and feminist streak. So he'd be subtle, teach her to trust him, count on him, turn to him when she needed something—someone, let her know that he valued her, wanted her. Understood her.

And he thought that the last few days he'd been doing really well at those goals.

And he'd not heard her mention that damned brother of Dave's even once.

He considered that something of a victory.

And her awkwardness was just proof that his plans were on their way to succeeding.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Derek dialed the familiar number that connected him with the queen of technology, and hit the button for the speaker. The blonde tech's voice soon filled the conference room, where he, Hotch, the Chicago agents, and the rest of the team sat.

"Hello, my dear crime fighters! Superman, Batman—I trust you're both keeping Wonder Woman safe out there? I have four names for you, and am still trying to run all the connections between the locations. I did find something else that was megalo-interesting. Each and every set of victims, had a purchase for the same item on their credit cards exactly two days before the vandalism occurred. Then, four days after the vandalism, the disappearance occurred."

"What was the item, Garcia?" Emily asked, trying to recall if she or Hotch had purchased anything significant in Indianapolis.

"Chocolate, my dear Goddess of the Strange. Chocolate."

"You're kidding?" JJ asked, bewildered. Why would chocolate be a trigger?

"Nope. And as an interesting—and possibly significant tidbit—the majority of the purchase was made on the _man's _credit card. Not sure how that fits in, but that's your job not mine, now isn't it?"

"Thanks, Garcia. Can you forward that list of names and the addresses to JJ?" Hotch said. He waited until the tech agreed, then disconnected the call.

"So. Did either of you buy chocolate in Indianapolis?" Morgan asked, looking at Emily significantly. It was almost a given that she had. Morgan had long accused her of living off the candy. "Emily?"

"Actually, I didn't." Emily said, nodding toward Hotch. "He bought it while I was in the restroom. Convenience store a few blocks from the Indianapolis Zoo—and the IUPUI campus."

"And Steven Lucas's studio." Hotch added flatly. "So he saw us in the convenience store, close enough to notice our purchases. Close enough to hear us talking."

"But Hotch, there wasn't anyone in that store who met this physical description." Emily argued. "I'm almost sure of it. Especially near enough to hear what we were talking about."

"What were you talking about?" Morgan asked.

"We mentioned the Fieldings, Lucas, and the Trubloods. Where we were going first." Hotch said, grimly. " He must have noticed our physical characteristics and moved closer. Realized I'd bought her chocolate. That triggered it. And he must have recognized the names, followed us from there. Must have saw our badges."

"And back to the field office." Emily said. "And then we went to lunch."

"And the son-of-a-bitch attacked our SUV." Hotch said, as they verbally worked out their previous actions. "Devolving and escalating. He'll get sloppy and make mistakes."

"Raging against you, Hotch, by attacking your side of the car." Reid said, thinking. "Angry because of the chocolate, because she was with you? I don't know."

"Hotch, can you think of anyone in that store that met the general physical description?" Reid asked, "What about anybody in that store?"

"There were two young guys near the soda machine." Emily remembered. "A couple by the maps. Out-of-towners. Us. And a guy near the motor oil? I accidentally bumped him on my way to the restroom. I hadn't seen him, and he stepped out right in front of me, I think."

"You were close enough for him to get a good look, then." Morgan said, flatly. "Was he still there when you came out of the restroom?"

"No. He was at the counter, right behind Hotch." She turned toward the man in question. "Do you remember him?"

"Medium height, soft build, but not fat. Not remarkable, at all. Hair was thinning slightly. Eyes were non-descript, watery. Allergies, maybe. Glasses, not stylish but not ridiculous, either. Around forty, forty-five, maybe." Hotch paused, remembering. "I asked you if you wanted anything _before _you'd went to the restroom."

"And I told you chocolate. Reese's." Emily's eyes narrowed. "But I don't remember seeing him then."

"He must have been behind the shelves." Hotch said. "I laughed, said 'of course' or something like that. We were out of the store less than five minutes after that."

"He must have followed you." Amecci said, grimly. "So how do we identify this guy?"

"We go to Indianapolis. JJ—you'll go directly to the Indianapolis field office, contact Garcia, liaise with the Indianapolis agents. Morgan, Prentiss, and Coombs—you'll go to the campus, IUPUI, and get information on the names Garcia found. Reid, Amecci, you and I will go back to that convenience store, get the tapes. Then compare with any photos Garcia can find. Emily—keep your eyes open at all times. And go nowhere alone. Nowhere. I'll do the same."

"One question." Coombs said. "If this guy _isn't _dark-haired and dark-eyes, clean-cut, and reserved, why is he targeting men who are?"

"Because they made him _angry!" _Reid said, excitedly. "Most likely a relationship ended—maybe she chose another man. One who was tall, dark-haired, and darker-eyed."

"Someone more reserved in manner." Emily's eyes narrowed as she thought, trained on Hotch's face. "Someone the UNSUB—and most stalkers are emotionally unstable—felt was lacking in the appropriate types of emotion. Someone whom the UNSUB couldn't rail against or retaliate. Maybe someone he worked for?"

"Someone they _both _worked with." Hotch said. "It would explain why all the victims were partners."

"And why he chooses successful women." Morgan said, eying Emily. "I'd say the woman left for a man of a higher position."

"And the UNSUB believed she left to further her career. So he blamed the man and the career." Emily said, on a sigh. "So he targets the men, men who work closely with their partners, by taking the women."

"So the male victim will suffer." Hotch said. "And he goes back to check on the male victims just to ensure they're still suffering."

"The way he is still suffering. So why always at the end of the term?" Reid asked.

"Because that's when she left him, most likely." Morgan thought aloud. "I bet she left with his boss, and he's reenacting his suffering at the end of each term."

"But why chocolate?" JJ asked.

"That's something we'll have to wait to find out from this son-of-a-bitch." Hotch said, grimly. "JJ—have the jet ready, wheels up in an hour."

"Yes, sir." JJ said, as everyone rose. As Hotch moved to stand beside Emily. As she heard him ask the older woman if she was ok. As she watched his hand wrap around her friend's elbow and pull her slightly from the rest of the group.

The change in Hotch's attitude toward Emily was more than noticeable, now. And JJ had only one thought—Wow.

INTERIM TWELVE

_Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.__  
_**_Louis L'Amour_**

**The flight to Indianapolis was thankfully short. Emily settled into the seat between Tony and Hotch, her laptop spread open on her lap**. Garcia had IM'd her, telling her be waiting for the requested information.

Emily knew some of that information would contain the name and address of the UNSUB responsible for the sixteen disappearances—possibly twenty-one. The UNSUB who was watching her and Hotch.

Planning to take _her _wherever he had taken the other dark-haired, dark-eyed women. Do with _her _whatever he'd done with them. And they _didn't _know what he'd done with them. Where he'd left their bodies. Emily had no hope that they were still alive, not after all this time. Years of experience told her that.

But she did have a glimmer of hope that they could give Emma Miller's mother the answers she deserved.

As soon as Garcia gave them the list of names.

"My dear Wonder woman, I have cross-referenced all three cities, and time references, and found three names—with accompanying driver's license photos. I am sending them to your handhelds now. As well as uploading to this lovely little screen. I am so glad you let me tweak your laptop, it's so interesting in here. I particularly love that one video, beautiful song. Got to love YouTube. I have also found the five missing missing—just like you all thought. I'm sending the information to your handhelds as we speak." Garcia took a deep breath before continuing. "I also found their ID badges for the campus. I took the liberty of uploading them, and you should see the images about now. Anyone ring a bell, Emily the Strange and Great?"

Emily looked at the three pictures on her screen, and pointed to the one on the far left. "That's him. Hotch?"

"That's the guy." Hotch's hand unconsciously covered hers, squeezed lightly, though he didn't look at her. It didn't matter, the gesture did exactly what he had intended.

Let her know he understood the little leap her heart had taken, even though she was a trained agent. Understood how it had disconcerted her to realize she had been _that close _to a serial killer—who had potentially targeted her. Let her know she could count on him.

Her hand turned palm-up before she even realized she'd done it, and her fingers laced with his. She left them there for a second, but only a second, before she pulled her hand back.

He smiled inwardly, glad she'd wordlessly accepted his offer of comfort. A week ago, she'd have jerked her hand back as if she'd been burned.

What a difference time can make.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Hotch wasn't entirely comfortable with Emily doing the campus interviews with just Morgan and Coombs, so he decided to accompany them. He sent Reid and Coombs back to the convenience store, with instructions to return to the Indy field office as quickly as possible.

He drove, with Emily in the passenger seat beside him. She hadn't said much since arriving at the airport, but he didn't badger her. They all handled the stress of the job in their own ways, and he knew—from her own confession—that she worked better if she could compartmentalize. So he left her to do just that.

Still, when they entered the brick building Garcia had listed as the place of employment for their UNSUB, he made doubly sure to be at her side. Just in case.

His cell rang just as they were about to reach the elevator and the entire group paused while he answered it. "Hey, Garcia."

Emily moved in closer to him, so she could hear the blonde's voice through the phone. Hotch solved the dilemma by clicking the phone onto speaker, after making sure no one else was close enough to overhear.

"Wicked find, boss man. Seems the UNSUB—Adrian Templeton–was adopted at the ripe old age of twelve by an aunt and uncle. His fraternal twin brother went to another relative. Seems their mother abandoned them in 1975. No one is really sure what happened to her. Just that the boys supposedly got home from school and she was gone. No traces of her were ever found—which was odd because her family insisted she'd never have left the children behind. But here's the kicker—Adrian Templeton used to be Adrian Preatt. Thought you might recognize the name. Garcia over and out."

"Wow." Emily said, borrowing one of JJ's expressions, "I didn't see that one coming."

"Still, it explains a lot. The similar typologies, preferences for taller women. Why the prison guard from Preatt's prison was one of the victims—she lived with her supervisor. Why we thought he knew something." Hotch said, as he pushed the button for the fourth floor of the building. "Morgan, you and Amecci cover the back and check Templeton's office. Prentiss and I will take the main hall. Everyone, keep an eye out."

"Hotch—do you really think you and Emily should go together? I mean, if he sees you it could be a major trigger." Morgan asked.

"He has a point." Emily said. "We don't know what seeing one of us will do to him, but seeing us _both…_this building is filled with students, kids."

"Prentiss, you go with Morgan, then. But I want radio contact maintained, understand?" Hotch wasn't too thrilled with the arrangement but he knew they were right.

But it was hard to fight the primitive man inside him screaming at him to keep her as safe as possible, to not let her anywhere near Adrian Templeton. That told him he was a fool for even letting her in the building.

He'd have to train that caveman to understand that she was a capable agent first, and not just the woman he wanted.

Today was as good as any a day to start.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Morgan saw him first. Adrian Templeton was walking casually down the long hallway that led to the bank of offices where the Criminology professor held his own appointments.

He'd studied the behavior of criminals, so he knew enough to cover his own tracks. And that's why _his _bodies—unlike his brother's—had never been found.

But they would be.

Morgan quickly called Hotch on the radio, asking for instructions, getting a _watch and wait _order. He made sure Prentiss was armed and ready, though his hovering hadn't been necessary. He had no qualms about her capabilities. She wasn't like Elle, she didn't panic when threatened. And that's what made her a kick-ass agent.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Hotch and Amecci took the back stairs, adrenalin helping them move quickly. They both knew this was the son-of-a-bitch who wanted nothing more than to take Emily away from them all. And neither man was going to let that happen.

To Tony Amecci, all teasing aside, Emily Prentiss was the closest to family the former foster kid had ever had—her and the rest of the team the Chicago office had dubbed _St. Michaels' Demons_, after Unit Chief Michaels, and the fearless, somewhat reckless seven-member team. And Tony protected his family no matter what.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Morgan waited until he saw the top of Hotch and Amecci's heads before calling out. "Adrian Templeton, This is the FBI! I need you to come out of that office now. Put your hands where I can see them and walk slowly. Right now!"

Emily had cleared the halls of any passing students or faculty, and she stood behind Tony near the south stairwell. Templeton had nowhere to go—and his office didn't have a window. Hotch covered the other exit, and they all knew the man would be trapped between them, the instant he followed Morgan's edict.

It would be over. And they'd begin the process of answering so many questions. Sometimes, the arrest was almost anti-climatic. They found the guy, arrested the guy and it was over. Sometimes it was a chase, adrenalin filled, and chaotic.

Sometimes it was just draining.

Adrian Templeton followed orders exactly. He walked slowly forward, hands raised in the air until he was even with Morgan. Amecci moved in to help secure the man. And it was over. Just over.

He didn't look like the monster she knew him to be. But he did look enough like his twin brother to give her the creeps. Both brothers had turned out to be serial killers. Both. And people debated the biological component of criminality. The Preatt/Tempelton brothers were a not-so-sterling example of how biology was a factor.

Morgan read him his rights, and the man didn't even look up. Just nodded, said he understood, kept denying he'd done anything wrong. Never looked toward either stairwell where the two dark-haired, dark-eyed agents covered the arrest. Prevented gawkers from getting too close. He never even saw them, never registered their presence.

It was disconcerting in a way Emily couldn't explain. This was the monster responsible for at least twenty-one families' suffering. The Millers, the Jenkins, the Powers, the Carters, and Eddings—all those families hurt by this one, little man. It was almost unfathomable.

Morgan and Amecci led him out of the building while Emily and Hotch moved in to search the man's office. The warrant they had outlined a search of both place of employment and home. Reid and Coombs were already on their way to his south Indy apartment.

Hopefully, they'd find some explanations as to what happened to those twenty-one women. Then it was back to the Chicago office, where Templeton would be booked and officially charged by the state of Illinois for his crime.

If they found enough to hold him, that is. Emily and Hotch both knew what they had was pretty flimsy.

They had no concrete evidence, nothing but the fact that he was in the right place at the right time. No proof he'd done anything wrong. In fact, if they'd not gotten a very lenient judge, they'd probably not even have an arrest warrant.

If his office didn't yield anything, and Reid didn't find anything—they could only hold him for seventy-two hours. And then he was back on the streets, free to harm as many women as he could before they stopped him.

It was Emily who first spotted the aluminum ball bat, resting between the shelf and the wall. "Hotch."

"What?" Hotch moved in and pulled the bat from the corner. "Dark blue paint."

"Just like our SUV." Emily, hoping the paint would match and they could hold him on the vandalism charges, if nothing else.

"We need more." He said, beginning to rifle the desk drawers.

It took them fourteen more minutes before Emily found something. A Minolta SLR 35 mm camera. The same make and model that Emma Miller had favored. The same make and model that had disappeared the day she had.

She flipped the body over and found exactly what she'd expected to see. Carved into the bottom were the initial EM. Emma Miller, or _Em _as her family had called her.

Proof positive that Adrian Templeton had been with Emma Miller the day she disappeared.

"We got the bastard." Emily said, satisfied. "Emma Miller's Minolta. Initials right where her mother said they would be."

"Let's get back to the field office." Hotch said, taking the camera from her. "I have several questions for that son-of-a-bitch."

"So do I." Emily said grimly. "Do you think we'll ever find the bodies, Hotch?"

"I don't know." Hotch admitted, mind flashing to twenty-one dark haired women who were being missed because of Adrian Templeton. Lover, family, friends, colleagues—it was always those left behind to suffer that touched Hotch the most. He didn't have much in this world, just Jack and Sean, Dave and the team—the woman beside him, but he knew it would _devastate_ him to be the one left behind.

"That's the worst part," Emily said, softly, as they moved down the stairwell. They had one more person to talk to—the dean of the criminology department, Martin Eubanks. Adrian Templeton's boss. "The not knowing. Never getting answers."

"But at least with an arrest, there is the opportunity for some kind of closure."

"But is there?" Emily asked rhetorically, pushing the button for the elevator. "And is the unknowing ever better than the knowing? We've seen some seriously disturbed things, should the victim's families _long_ for that?"

"I know it's never perfect. But at least we can tell them what we know." Hotch said, moving to rest one hand on her lower back as they exited the elevator. "Give them that."

"Hmm. Is it enough, I wonder?"

"Don't. You'll drive yourself insane always wondering." Hotch told her bluntly, moving his hand from her back to wrap around her upper arm. "I know this one has been hard for you. For both of us."

"So? We all have cases that get to us a little more than others." She defended, warily. "What about it?"

"I just want you to know that you don't have to hide how you're feeling all the time. I'm here if you ever want to talk." Hotch said, bluntly. "I known I've not exactly made it easy in the past. But I am trying to change that."

"I know." Emily reassured him, moving closer as they walked down the hall to the dean's office.

"Good." Hotch said, as he approached the dean's receptionist. She was a pretty woman, and he mentally cataloged the long fall of straight chocolate brown hair, and her wide dark eyes. "Hello, I'm SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Prentiss, we're with the FBI, and we need to speak to Dean Sanders."

"It'll just be a moment." The woman said, a nervous look in her eyes. "He's stepped out to the restroom. It'll only be a second. Can I…uh…get you a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks. We just have few questions for him about one of the lecturers in his department." Hotch said, reassuringly.

Before anything else could be said, Emily and Hotch felt someone approaching them from behind. Both spun around, seeing the man behind them.

It was like looking at Hotch's fraternal twin—if he'd had one. Less than an inch difference in height separated the two men, they had highly similar hair cuts, and their coloring was almost dead on. Even the suits were of the same cut, one charcoal gray, and the other a lighter heather gray. Emily's one thought was that _this _was the guy Templeton was truly raging against. This was the guy Templeton was punishing each and every time he took and killed one of those twenty-one women.

(Ok, so it took a WEE bit longer than I expected to finish this one…)

INTERIM THIRTEEN

Peter S. Beagle wrote:

"_Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story._"

Adrian Templeton was the sneeziest man Emily had ever seen. She watched him from behind the interrogation glass at the Indianapolis field office, and wondered if they should grab a spare box of tissues. His eyes were watery, washed with an allergic haze, as Morgan and Coombs—the two men who didn't fit the victimology—prepped him for the final part of the interrogation. The part when Emily and Hotch took over. The part where they attempted to jar a reaction out of him.

Where they hoped to get more out of him then they had after two hours of interrogation work. At least the location of the bodies. Emily knew the families deserved that much.

Hotch stood beside her, watching the proceedings silently. His shoulder touched hers, a strangely reassuring warmth. When had she come to depend on the one man she'd always been wary of?

"So how are we going to do this?" Emily asked.

"I'm going in." Hotch said, "Make it clear I'm the superior agent, start questioning him. Twenty minutes in, I want you in. By my side, with this." He wagged a bright orange package in front of her face.

"You want to try to trigger the rage." Emily stated. "What do you think will happen?"

"I don't know, but I'm ready to find out." Hotch said, eyes running over her face, checking for signs of her mental processes. "You ok with this?"

"Yes." Emily said, resolutely. She reached a hand out, taking the chocolate from him. Her fingers grazed his, and he reached out quickly, trapping her smaller hand.

"This is almost over." He said, squeezing her hand around the chocolate. "When we're done, we'll all fly back to Chicago, tie up any loose ends, then all of us will head to Spinelli's one last time."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Emily smiled. "Otherwise we'll have one very disappointed media liaison. She's been going on and on about the spaghetti. And garlic bread. I've noticed she seems to want garlic bread a lot."

He actually smiled a half-smile at her, though—in truth—he was worried about the upcoming interrogation. He'd never really worried about having her that close to UNSUBS before. Had never thought he'd have to, or had the right. It was her job.

But now he was sending her into a man who had targeted her. Deliberately. Hoping to incite a reaction. Willingly putting the woman he wanted into potential danger.

What did that say about him?

Still, if he had any hope of gaining her interest, of changing the dynamics of their relationship he had to prove long before he made a move in that direction that he trusted her as a member of the team first. The whole success of his plans depended on her trusting him as much as he wanted her to know he trusted her.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Ready." Emily replied, shoulders squared and chin resolute. "Let's break this bastard and get the hell out of Indy."

Hotch nodded, squeezed her elbow once more before turning to go. He fought the urge to turn around and tell her not to worry about it, that he didn't want her going near Templeton, but he didn't. He just continued on, opening both sets of doors and entered the interrogation room.

Templeton looked up, face sullen and morose. Almost pouting. His lips lifted in an unconscious snarl when he recognized Hotch. "Where is she?"

"I'll be the one asking the questions, Mr. Templeton." Hotch said, calmly. He didn't look toward the interrogation room window. Didn't betray Emily's presence. "We have a few questions for you, starting with this."

He laid out the chemical analysis of the blue paint found on the ball bat. "It matches the paint of the SUV I was driving."

"So? A lot of SUV's are blue."

"And this camera?" He showed him the pictures of Emma Miller's camera. "And this necklace? This PDA? All these possessions have been positively identified as belonging to these women."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily watched as Hotch skillfully led the man around to a position that was favorable for a confession. She had to admit, the man was one hell of an interrogator. He gave the signal for her to enter and she did.

No one in the room missed the way Templeton's attention focused on her and stayed on her. Then she smacked the package of chocolate on the table between them. "Thank you, Hotch."

"No problem, Emily. I know you love chocolate." Hotch smiled then, an expression so predatory that Emily fought the natural inclination to backup. The man could be so coldly lethal.

Templeton's breathing increased as Emily opened the package. Then in a calculated move, she offered the UNSUB the other piece of chocolate and peanut butter candy.

"You bitch! You know I'm allergic to chocolate! You know!" He suddenly screamed, jumping from the chair. The wrist manacle chained to the table prevented him from reaching her, but Hotch had instinctively placed his body in front of hers. Tony Amecci had been a few milliseconds behind Hotch, and Derek had echoed the movement from the other side.

Emily couldn't even _see _Templeton from her position behind three large male agent bodies. Soon Hotch and Derek had Templeton wrestled back down, and Hotch was ordering Emily out of interrogation. They'd take it the rest of the way, and she'd watch for body language tells through the window.

It was one of her strengths, that and listening to nuances behind speech. She was one hell of a linguist, and she knew it. She could pinpoint a man's region in the Middle East through the most subtle of word choices.

A man like Adrian Templeton was no challenge at all.

She buzzed Hotch on the mic he wore. "He's lying when asked about his uncle's farm, Hotch."

She watched and listened as Hotch led Templeton around to the topic of his uncle's farm once again.

It took two hours for them to pry the truth out of him. Another two for the warrant to go through. And yet another hour for them to make the drive to the southern Indiana town where the bodies were said to have been hidden.

Twenty-two bodies were found, buried in shallow graves surrounding the barn. Emily wanted to sit down and bawl. Twenty-two families who would never see their loved ones again, all because Templeton couldn't handle a normal rejection.

EMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

Hotch watched her face as yet another body was pulled from the ground. How did she do it? How did she keep her face so perfectly composed when her eyes held such turmoil?

Why hadn't he ever noticed? "Emily? You ok?"

She looked at him, seemingly startled at finding him there. "Will it ever make sense, I wonder?"

"People like Templeton?" Hotch asked, moving a little closer. "I don't know."

"He raged against so many people. Simply because she left him."

"Losing someone can be a powerful motivator." Hotch said, thinking of the changes he'd tried to implement in his life since Hayley had left. Changes he probably should have made long before his wife had ever _considered _leaving.

"Yes."

"It's in how you deal with it that makes a difference. People like Templeton function on a lower level than we do."

"Do you really believe that? He was a successful professor, had a good life, could have met someone else and went on, yet instead he chose to murder women to make those who loved them pay. Wouldn't that be considered inherently evil?" And yet he'd hated dark-haired men who bought their dark-haired partners chocolate. Because _his _girlfriend had left him for a dark-haired man. Who'd bought her chocolate. Templeton had tasted it on her lips when he'd tried to kiss her and he'd known. Or so he'd said. Chocolate as an indicator of what he'd seen as adultery. After all, Templeton had said—you wouldn't eat the thing that could kill your lover unless you _planned _to kill him. It had triggered rage, and the urge to kill. But he'd valued his position as a professor, so he'd killed others who reminded him of _them. _

It still didn't make sense to Emily. She almost doubted that it ever would.

"Define evil." Hotch said, grabbing her elbow in as strong a show of affection and support that he felt he could make while surrounded by agents and local LEOs. Even the local television station was represented.

"Templeton. Hinkle. Frank." Emily started. "Hardwick. Joseph Smith."

"Was Smith evil or sick? Or do they all suffer from some sickness?" Hotch asked. "We can't dwell on it, Emily, or it will drive _us _insane."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily knocked on the door to the little bungalow. Hotch watched from the Bureau SUV as Emma Miller's mother answered the door.

He'd understood that she felt she had to do this—hadn't he made a special effort to visit Addie's son after he'd been killed?

They all had cases that just _got _to them, why should Emily be any different?

The women spoke for several minutes before moving back to the same porch swing. Jolene Miller cried, hugged Emily and returned inside. But Emily didn't move to the SUV and Hotch went on high alert.

The older woman returned and handed Emily a small black bag. Emily shook her head, tried to refuse. But the woman was insistent, and Emily accepted graciously. Hotch wondered was in that bag. The front door opened again, and Hotch saw Steven Lucas, Emma Miller's lover, step out on to the porch.

The man paused when he realized it was Emily. His body tensed, and Hotch felt his echo the man's action. The photographer moved closer to Emily, touched her arm, said something.

Emily tensed her shoulders, the only sign that Hotch could see that she was uneasy. He opened the SUV door. Took him less than five seconds to reach Emily's side. "Agent Prentiss? We really need to be going, the jet leaves in an hour."

"Of course. Mrs. Miller, thank you." Emily turned toward the older woman and smiled.

Hotch watched Jolene Miller return the expression, though hers was touched by the sadness that only a grieving parent could exhibit.

Steven Lucas said nothing as Hotch and Emily shook his hand politely. He just stared at them, the grief for his Emma still fresh in his brown eyes.

Hotch felt for him. Knowing you couldn't protect the ones you loved was a horrible feeling. Hotch's whole being was dedicated to making the world safer for Jack and for the others that he cared about. But he wasn't stupid, he knew it wasn't enough, would never truly be enough.

But that didn't stop him from trying.

The SUV ride to the Indianapolis Airport was made in soft conversation and long silences.

"What did she give you?" Hotch finally asked, motioning to the bag at Emily's feet. He'd yet to see her unzip it.

"One of Emma Miller's favorite cameras. Said that her daughter would have wanted it to be used and appreciated." Emily's words were soft as she watched out the window as the sped down I-465. "I tried to refuse."

"It probably gave Jolene some comfort to imagine _you _using it. You love photography just like her daughter."

"And I look like she did." Emily turned to face him more fully.

"Yes." And she _had. _Emma Miller had bore an extremely strong resemblance to Emily in some of the photographs Hotch had seen. Same shaped eyes, same coloring. Emma Miller was slightly shorter, and just a little curvier. But the face, the face was very similar to Emily's. It had been hard for Hotch to look at those photographs. He could only imagine how difficult it had been for Emily. "We got the bastard, Em."

He'd unconsciously used the same nickname Emma Miller's family had used for her, and he became aware of it at the same time she did. Emily paused before speaking. "Will it ever truly be over for them?"

"Nothing ever is. I know it's never perfect. But it's the best we can do."

"I guess that's all anyone can ask of us, isn't it?" She lifted the black bag from the floor board and unzipped it carefully.

Inside was a nice Canon SLR camera. Pricy, but well-worn. Well-loved. Emily pulled it out, and Hotch saw her run her fingers over the E and M carved into the bottom.

"We did good on this one, Emily. He won't ever hurt anyone else ever again." Hotch tried one last time at reassurance.

"There's still film in this camera." Emily stated. "Looks like she kept it ready always. Film's probably still good."

"Are you going to use up the roll?"

"Yes, I think I will. Then I'll develop it. See what pictures she had taken with _this _camera." Templeton had taken several shots of Emma Miller's dead body with the Minolta they'd found. A perpetual reminder of his actions though he'd never developed them. "Hopefully, hopefully, there will be some butterflies."

"Butterflies are beautiful." Hotch stated in his usually flat Hotch voice. "Just ask JJ."

"They certainly are." Emily pointed the camera at him, setting the shutter speed. "Smile, Hotch. Just once. I promise it won't hurt."

He smiled.


	9. Chapter 10

ROSSI'S NIGHTMARE

AFTER INTERIM

_Unfortunately, the balance of nature decrees that a super-abundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares. _

_Peter Ustinov _

Emily carefully opened the door to Dave's hospital room, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping. He probably was, it was near midnight and he had to have had a hard day.

Still, she'd needed to come and see him—just to make sure he was ok, alive. To have something to focus on besides the whole Adrian Templeton arrest. Had that only been twelve hours ago?

Dave was asleep and she almost turned back, almost. The sight of the man sitting staring at the sleeping profiler made up her mind for her. "Steven. How is he?"

"He's fine, now. Still no infection, thank God. He, uh, had a nightmare." Steven wouldn't admit how much it had upset him to see his brother in such pain—and it wasn't physical. "It's kind of late for you to be here, isn't it?"

"Just got back from a case." Emily said, to the man she'd went on a few dates with. She'd enjoyed herself, liked him. He was so uncomplicated. Now she wasn't so sure how she felt about him. How she felt about anything. Her, him—Hotch.

"Oh. Did it go well?" Steven asked, a bit disconcerted. He really liked the woman in front of him, but when he'd stopped to think about the job she did—the same job that had landed his brother in that hospital bed--he wasn't so sure.

"Not really," Emily said, "But we eventually got the guy."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" What else could he say? He didn't want to ask about whatever monster it had been. Did not want to know.

Emily felt the awkwardness, and it didn't require any of her profiling skills to determine what was behind it. It had happened to her before, when the reality of her job set in with the men she'd been interested in. "Yes, that's all that matters. I enjoyed the book. It was a pleasant surprise. And the lily was a nice touch."

"I saw it and I thought of you." Steven said, standing and looking at her. She really was a beautiful woman, and he'd be rather stupid not to go for it. He took a step toward her, to do what--he wasn't sure.

She must have realized he'd moved, for she quickly stepped back, closer to Dave's bed. Reached down to pat the older man's hand. She gasped when the hand turned up and grabbed hers.

When Dave began to moan.

"He's doing it again!" Steven said, hurriedly rushing to the other side.

"Nightmare!" Emily quickly sized up the situation. "Dave. It's alright. You're safe here. Wake up. It's Emily, Dave, and I need you to wake up."

"Emily?" The man rasped. "Why are you here—you're supposed to be with Hotch. Hotch needs you."

"Hotch went home, Dave." Emily said, as his brown eyes opened. As he looked at her confused.

"I can still hear the kids screaming, Emily. I have to help them."

"We did help them, Dave. Remember—I cuffed the man myself. Joey, his name was Joey. Remember? You and I—we ran through the park. We got him, Dave. You can rest assured it's over." Emily spoke in a firm tone, focused on Dave. But she didn't miss the way his brother pulled back from the intensity of the emotional drama. Pulled back from her.

She wasn't too upset about it. Not now, anyway. She was too churned up inside because of the last case, the way Hotch had changed, and her own feelings of confusion, to worry about a man who apparently couldn't handle her job.

And it's not like they'd done anything. They'd only had a lunch date and one dinner date. Nothing major, nothing serious.

But still, it made for an awkward moment. She continued to sooth her colleague until he fell back to sleep. "He should be ok, now. Just remind him that it's over, if he wakes up again."

"I, uh, will." Steven moved around the bed, blocked her exit from the room. "I really enjoyed being with you, Emily."

"I enjoyed it, too." Emily said. "But we both know it wasn't anything serious, right?"

"Of course. I live in Philadelphia and you live here." Steven backtracked, wondering if he was that transparent.

"Right. And you can rest assured I'll be here for Dave, if he needs it. Even if he won't admit it." Emily tried to move around him, just a little. He subtly blocked her path. "I really need to be going. Tomorrow comes early at the BAU."

"Yes, the BAU." Steven said, almost resentfully. "Emily, before you go. I just need to do one thing."

"Yes?" She asked, growing slightly uncomfortable with his hands wrapped around her arms. Still, she wasn't completely defenseless—if the need arose. "What is it?"

"I hope you don't think me too pushy, but…" His words trailed off as his head lowered. As his lips pressed against hers lightly. Pressed deeper when she didn't resist. He released her arms, slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

She could smell his aftershave, a faint piney scent that was pleasant. He tasted like coffee and peppermint candies as he deepened the kiss even further. She kissed him further, just to see. All in all, Emily didn't really mind—but it was nothing earth-shattering.

And for a woman like Emily Prentiss it would have to be. She wanted a man who could make her burn, make her tremble. Make her feel vulnerable and defenseless against him and the passion he'd ignite. Make her feel wanted, needed, treasured—even hunted.

Someone who'd understand the darkness she hid within, because they had the darkness in them, as well.

Unfortunately, Steven Rossi was not that man. And they both knew it.

He released her, pulled back, looked down into her face. "Would you like to have dinner tomorrow evening before I head home? Just as friends, nothing more?"

"I'd like that, Steven. I really would." Emily said, and knew she wasn't lying. Steven was a good guy, smart, funny, intelligent, with whom she could have scintillating conversation with about non-serial killer things, and she'd hate to lose him as a friend, because he couldn't handle her job. "Tomorrow at seven?"

"Seven, it is."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it."

HAUNTED HOTEL

EARLY JUNE 2008

DURING _INTERIM_

Emily was the ghost that haunted every hotel, Derek thought as the soft knock rapped against his door. It didn't surprise him—she'd done it ever since she'd joined the BAU when cases got to be too much for her. She'd shared her secret with him after they'd arrested Buford and he'd been angry at the entire team for the simple fact that they _knew. _

When he'd found out that she was wondering the hotels alone, most likely barefooted, late at night in strange cities—he'd hit the roof. She had to know that wasn't safe, that anything could happen to her. That travelers were extra vulnerable—especially those females who hunted serial killers.

So they'd worked out a system. She'd knock on his door twice as she passed. He was a light sleeper and always woke up. If three knocks hadn't sounded within an hour after the first two—he'd get up and go looking for her.

She'd also been cautioned to stay within the hotel lobbies. She was never to step outside the hotel. Never.

Sometimes, they just sat and talked, others—they just sat. Sometimes he held her while she cried. Sometimes she listened while he ranted about the world in general.

Sometimes just being with someone who didn't judge you, and didn't expect anything from you was all it took to make it better.

Derek wondered if Hotch realized that. The man had shut down in the five days or so since Rossi'd been hurt. Pulled back from the entire team, stood watching them with inscrutable eyes.

Stood watching Emily.

Derek wondered briefly if she'd noticed. Should he tell her? Or let her figure it out on her own? It was probably best not to say anything—just in case nothing came of it.

Morgan looked at clock, making note of the time. She had forty minutes to knock or he was going after her. It's what friends did, looking after each other.

"Morgan? What was that?" Reid asked, voice sleep husky, from the next bed, "Emily up haunting again?"

"Yeah man, go back to sleep. I'll stay up until she's back." Derek said. "She shouldn't be up too much longer."

"Why does she do it?" Reid asked, "Wander the halls?"

"Restless." Derek said, "Some cases just hit her hard. You know what it's like."

"Why tonight?"

"Come on man, sixteen women in their twenties and thirties, and all brunettes. You should know what she was seeing." Derek chided. "It sucks, man, the way it's almost always women who are the victims—especially of sexualized violent crimes. It just is."

"Ten times more likely to be a woman than a man." Spencer added. "But Emily never lets it get to her."

"Emily compartmentalizes." Derek contradicted. "The only time it has to escape is when she's asleep."

"So she doesn't sleep." Reid said, sighing. He understood ghosts. He had plenty of his own.

"She doesn't sleep." Derek said. "When she does, she fights the nightmares with everything she has."

"So she kicks, and twists." Spencer said, mind replaying images of his friend sleeping on the plane. He'd just always thought she was one of those restless sleeper types. Never stopped to think that the woman he considered to be invulnerable was battling demons right before his eyes.

"And fights ghosts with every fiber of her being. But sometimes, the ghosts win."

"So she haunts the hotels, while the ghosts are haunting her."

"Exactly." Derek finished, as a quick succession of knocks sounded on the door, signaling that the battle was won—at least for tonight.

Derek Morgan relaxed. Emily Prentiss would sleep now, and leave the haunting of the hotel to another night—or another spirit.

HOTCH'S DARK EYED OBSESSION

JUNE 2008

Hotch lay in his hotel room, alone and isolated. He looked at the room's second bed and thought briefly about the man who would have been occupying it. It had only been ten days since Rossi's SUV had exploded, but the man had a hopeful prognosis.

That wasn't why Aaron Hotchner lay awake at three a.m.

Dreams were what was keeping him awake. He'd had the most erotic, most sexually-fulfilling dream of his life. And it didn't feature his ex-wife for even a second.

No, all he could remember was dark eyes staring up at him, skin so soft and sweet smelling, lips as ripe as the strawberries he thought of whenever he stepped close enough to touch her, to smell her—to _breathe _her.

No, Aaron Hotchner hadn't dreamt of his ex-wife, or of the woman who looked much like her.

He'd had a flaming hot wet dream about his subordinate. A dream so hot his mattress was soaking wet from his sweat and he was seriously contemplating taking a very early shower—a cold shower—before crashing on the other, fresh mattress.

His body still trembled from the dream, from the things he'd done to her, from the things she'd done to him.

Things he'd never even thought to try in his fifteen years of marriage to the prim and proper Hayley. Things he'd never wanted to. But now all he could think about was doing those things with the dark-haired, dark-eyed, sweet scented agent lying in the next hotel room.

He wondered briefly what she was dreaming about. He wondered even longer on what she might be wearing. Wondered how it would be to wake up and find her in _his _hotel room instead of the one she was sharing with JJ.

Wondered what he would do first. What she would _let _him do first. Would he kiss first? Drop quick little caresses on her lips, her cheeks, her neck? She wasn't entirely comfortable with herself—or him, he'd noticed that often, so he'd have to get her to relax. Maybe by stroking her like a cat, one hand lazily running up her arm, down her back, over her ass and around her hip. Then back up again.

Maybe she'd like something a little swifter. Maybe he'd tangle one hand in the dark hair she'd taken to curling more often. He loved the curls. Maybe tilt her head back so he could look down into those dark eyes, as he pulled her body tightly to his. Maybe he'd bend down and run his tongue over the smooth skin of her neck, see what that part of her smelled like. Would she smell like strawberries there? Or warm vanilla cream?

Maybe she'd be wearing that red tank top she favored. He favored it, too. The way it fit her so closely, the way it left all that milk smooth skin exposed. The way he could watch the smooth muscles of her arms as they worked. The woman certainly was fit, and he knew she'd fit against him perfectly. Curve in all the right places.

His body was tensing and he struggled to compose himself. He—who never lost control, who'd mastered the art of showing no emotion as a young boy helpless beneath his father's belt—struggled to get inappropriate thoughts out of his mind. It was almost unbelievable.

But this wasn't the first night he'd obsessed over Emily Prentiss long into the night. It was the fourteenth to be exact.

Three days before Rossi'd been injured had found the team stuck in an empty hay barn for the night, and _he'd _ended up sleeping next to Emily.

Ended up waking with her held tight in his arms, her lithe body pressed tight against his, as she fought to escape the early dawn chill. Ended up feeling her every breath as it pressed her chest against his.

Rossi's words of a few days later brushed through Hotch's mind, "Do you know what I wouldn't give for a woman who actually understood what we did every day? And you've got one right there in front of you! One who's sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving—who is virtually crying out for a special kind of man."

She _was_ sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving, and his body was crying out for her. It was almost as if he—the man who'd written the book on the subject—was forming an obsession.

For the dark-eyed woman he'd never wanted in the BAU to begin with.

THE STRAWBERRY LADY

JUNE 2008

Hotch had been dreaming about her for almost two weeks. Dreaming about having her under him, above him, in front of him. Just dreaming about having her.

It was slowly killing him.

Seeing her dressed in those ridiculously short shorts and that red tank top wasn't going to do much for his sanity today, either. Thank God he had a three-year old to distract him from her. Jack walked beside him, tugging impatiently on his hand. He wanted to do everything at the park. Play on the swings, fish for minnows in the little stream, just run and play like the wild child he was.

It meant everything to Hotch to see his son free to be as uncontained, as joyful, as he wanted. Unlike his own strict and sterile childhood. Had his parents ever brought him and Sean to the park? He didn't think so.

The first people Hotch had seen that he recognized were Penelope and Kevin. They were arguing slightly over the best ways to roast the hotdogs—grill or on sticks. Penelope and the grill were winning—which didn't surprise Hotch in the least.

He'd looked past them and nearly swallowed his tongue. Derek—the birthday boy—and the rest of the team, sans Reid, and Will were arranged in a semi-circle tossing a Frisbee casually.

He'd always loved that red tank top. And those short, short, short black shorts that showed off her long legs to perfection were the stuff fantasies were made of. Absolute perfection. She looked young, carefree, happy, and sexy as hell. And he wished for a moment that everyone in the damned park would just disappear—and leave him alone with her.

"Me pway?" Jack demanded, and Hotch looked down. The boy was staring at the Frisbee with unabashed glee. "Daddy, me pway, too?"

"Maybe in a little bit. Want to say hello first?"

"Kay." His thumb went close to his mouth and Hotch smiled, knowing the idea of meeting strange people was making him nervous. He was going through a shy stage typical of his age. Hotch wouldn't rush him.

Garcia saw Superman and little Boy Wonder when they were about six feet out. "Hey, boss man! Look at the little guy! Wow. Looks so much like you."

Jack's hair was a few shades lighter but with time, it would be as dark as his father's. And his eyes were already that deep fathomless dark brown. The smile was Hotch's, too.

"Hello, Garcia. This is Jack. He's a bit nervous today. Jack, this is Daddy's friend Penelope."

"Hello Jack-Jack, you can call me Pen." Penelope bent down and held out a hand solemnly for the little boy to shake. Jack reached up, dignified, and shook the hand—looking very much like a mini-Hotch.

The rest of the team moved in, the Frisbee battle over. Hotch made the introductions before asking, "Where's Spencer?"

"He was elected to pick up Dave from his cabin. Dave still can't drive yet." Emily answered. She was slightly sweaty, flushed, and her hair was curling wildly. It was hard for Hotch to look away. "They should be here shortly."

"Dave's brother isn't going to be able to make it?" Hotch asked, an unconscious bite in his tone at the mention of the good professor.

"No, he had a slight emergency with his twins. Had to head back to Philly." Emily answered, backing away slightly. Why did Hotch always seem to resent Steven? Steven was a nice guy, and though they'd recently decided that a relationship between them wouldn't work out in the long run—he needed a woman with a more traditional life, and she needed a man who understood the profiling life—they had vowed to remain friends. "Sent his regards to the rest of the team."

"That's right, you two had dinner again last night?" JJ asked, missing the way Hotch's eyes flared at her words. Everyone did—except Morgan who had a sneaking suspicion what Hotch's problem actually was.

"Umm—hmm." Emily nodded. Hotch was staring at her again, making her nervous. Always making her nervous.

"Daddy, me swing!" The little boy said, breaking into the conversation, and drawing his father's eyes away from the pretty lady in the red shirt. "There!"

Hotch followed the boy's finger and saw the brightly colored play equipment. "Alright, let's go!"

Hotch pushed his son for a few minutes before following him to the slides and the teeter-totters. When he returned, Reid and Rossi had arrived—the latter being comfortably arranged in the lawn chair Penelope had brought for that very purpose. His right arm was still bandaged and in a sling, and he appeared a little pale. But Hotch was never more relieved to see his friend alive and breathing. It had been too damned close.

Jack was getting fussy, hungry and over-excited. But thankfully, the _grilled _hotdogs were finished and Penelope was reigning over their disbursement. Soon Hotch had Jack a plate fixed with a hotdog and some potato chips and settled at the picnic table.

The little boy chose the seat right next to the pretty dark haired lady.

Hotch sat across from his son, where he could easily reach his plate to assist him, but still see the little boy's face. And hers. JJ and Will settled on Emily's other side and the two women laughed and talked, giggling.

Jack liked the lady's laugh. And she talked to him, not like he was a baby. And she had pretty eyes. Dark eyes like his and his Daddy's. Plus, she smelled like strawberry ice cream. Jack loved strawberry ice cream. His daddy liked strawberries, too. He ate his hotdog, and some of his chips, but he started to get sleepy. It was close to his nap time, and he just couldn't stay awake.

Emily felt the little head hit her arm softly and she looked down. Smiled sweetly at the little dark headed boy. "Oh! Hotch, I think it's naptime."

Her words were soft, drawing his attention from Reid's ramblings and he smiled. His son was sound asleep, leaning against Emily as if he'd known her his whole life. He stood and rounded the table, pulling the little boy into his arms. Penelope and Kevin had spread a blanket out by Dave and Hotch arranged the little boy near their feet. He'd be out for at least an hour. He smiled down at him, a soft smile that the team just wasn't used to seeing.

Emily'd known he had a son, but she'd never really given much thought to how Hotch would be with him. But seeing this tenderness really surprised her. It wasn't like the cold, severe man she'd worked with over the last year and a half. He really loved his son and she admired that.

It reiterated what they'd discussed in the hospital chapel. What did they really know about each other? Not much.

After they ate, Will and Derek began casually tossing a football back and forth—and after much convincing, Kevin joined in, while JJ, Penelope, and Emily started their own Frisbee game some great distance away. Just to give everyone enough space to play without tripping over each other.

Hotch stayed with Rossi and his son, keeping one eye on the sleeping toddler and another on his recuperating colleague. Reid sat near Rossi's feet, munching on sour cream potato chips, and watching the rest of the team's athletics. He'd been asked to join in with both groups—but he was too clumsy and didn't want to make a fool of himself.

Emily jumped, catching a toss that was a bit over her head. Her tall, trim, athletic body stretched, showing to great advantage. Her laughter rang out, floating over the distance to the three men sitting, and Hotch unconsciously smiled. He loved her laugh.

"Boys," Dave said, laughing softly, as he too watched the dark-haired woman. "We have poachers."

"What?" Reid asked around the chips in his mouth.

Dave motioned with his good hand toward a trio of men just past the three women. "Poachers."

"I don't get it. They're just tossing a football, like Morgan and the others." Reid watched the men, as they threw their ball. "Why does that make them poachers? What are they poaching?"

"Reid, you study human behavior, right?" Dave asked, as the little boy asleep near him began to stir. "Why, with all this big park would they choose to toss the ball near where our girls are playing? Poachers."

"What?"

"Watch. See the guy in the navy—the one closest to the girls?" Dave began. Hotch just watched. "His buddies will overthrow, in three, two, one…" The ball shot over the guy's head and landed not two feet from Emily. "Yep, looks like Emily's the target. And now the guys have their opening."

Hotch watched as she jerked in surprise, turning toward the trio of men. She'd obviously not even been aware they were near. The Frisbee game paused. Jack woke, wide awake and raring to go—just like Hotch always did. The boy was very much like his father.

"Target?" Reid asked, intrigued by the whole show. "Guys do that?"

"Reid, _you're_ a guy. Are you telling me you wouldn't do that?" Rossi asked. "To get a girl like that?"

"Well, no. I'd talk to her." Reid said, shrugging.

"And how's that working out for you?" Rossi asked. "Watch. He'll walk over to her. Smile. Laugh, apologize."

Sure enough the guy did exactly as Rossi predicted.

"Now what?" Reid asked, getting excited at learning about a new aspect of human behavior. "What will he do now? What is he saying?"

"Casually flirting. Checking her out—and she looks good today." Rossi said. "Asking if he can make it up to her for disturbing her game with her friends. As his friends get closer, and Penelope and JJ step over to see what is going on."

"And this stuff _works_? I don't know, I don't see Emily falling for that." Reid said skeptically. "Or Pen and JJ."

"Maybe it'll work. Probably it won't. Our girl is smarter than that." Rossi said.

"Daddy, me pway with the st'berry lady." Jack insisted, seeing the pretty lady in the red shirt with the Frisbee. _He_ was going to play with the lady, not that guy with the football! _Him_! Jack-Jack! "You pwomised!"

"Strawberry lady?" Rossi laughed, "He's pegged that one correctly."

"Come on. Daddy'll take you to her." Hotch stood determinedly, holding out a hand for his little boy.

Rossi and Reid watched the two Hotchners as they moved closer to the women. Watched as Hotch called Emily's name. Told her Jack wanted to play.

Watched as Derek and the other men paused to watch what was happening. Watched as Kevin and Will moved to stand beside Hotch. Watched as the little dark-haired, dark-eyed boy left his daddy to run to the pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed lady. Who scooped him up and put him on her hip, like she'd done it a million times before.

"I don't get it." Reid said, as the three strange men backed up swiftly. The one nearest Emily holding his hands up in a shrug, looking toward Hotch. Almost a surrender. Watched as the little boy glared at the man holding the football. "What just happened?"

"Reid—Aaron and Jack just chased the poachers away."

"I get that, but how? And why so quickly? I mean, Kevin and Will didn't say anything. And what was the deal with Hotch and Jack? Why would Hotch chase them away from Emily? How did he do it without really saying anything? I don't get it."

"Look at that kid and look at Emily—anybody looking would think they were related, right?"

"I guess. They do have similar coloring. But so does Hotch." It began to make some sense to Reid. "They think Jack is _Emily's_ andHotch's, don't they? So they think they're poaching."

"Looks like it." Rossi watched as Emily—holding the little boy—jumped to catch the Frisbee. As the three strange men moved further away—probably in search of other pretty ladies to charm. As the little boy laughed, drawing his daddy's attention from where he'd been casually tossing a football to Morgan. Drawing his daddy's attention to the pretty lady with a nice laugh.

Jack was having a good time—and he'd made those bad guys go away. The strawberry lady was his—and his Daddy's.

And now those guys knew it.


	10. Chapter 11

APOCALYPSE NOW

MID JUNE 2008

"_So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire." (Revelations)_

(Early May 2008)

Derek Morgan was no angel. Emily Prentiss knew that—but she didn't care, she went home with him anyway. It was the smile, the pleading look in the big brown eyes. So she did it.

And look what she got out of it. She looked at the pitiful creature in the passenger seat of her Roadster. "Don't you dare make a mess on my seat, hear me?"

He didn't answer. Not that she'd really expected one. How had she let herself be suckered into this? She wasn't quite sure.

How was she going to manage this—with her life, with her job?

She wasn't sure of that, either.

But she had to admit he was cute, in an _ugly _sort of way. "You know, beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before—Kurt Vonnegut said that. In my case, it's beware the woman who works hard—and finds herself no wiser than before. I study behavior, and I _knew_ Morgan wanted something. Why else was he so insistent? And now look, I'm stuck with you."

She sighed when she got no response, just a blink of large green eyes. She'd never seen a cat take to riding in cars so well. But the big gold monster just curled into her seat, and acted as if he'd spent hours in a purring BMW every day.

"You'll need a name. Any suggestions?" She asked him, maneuvering the silver car through the busy Annandale evening traffic.

Morgan had looked so innocent when he'd asked her to give him a ride home. She'd thought he just wanted to take a spin in the car her father had bought her for her birthday.

Boy, did she learn her lesson. "How about naming you after Kurt? Do you like that?"

"Merow." He actually answered, and she took it as approval.

"Kurt it is. Kurt Morgan Prentiss, the big ugly cat." She said, pulling her car into the second space assigned to her unit. Her sedan sat right where she'd left it the night before.

She'd tried to tell her father she didn't need two cars, but she had to admit the Roadster gave her a bit of thrill. And he'd always bought her expensive presents, to make up for certain things. And who wouldn't want a silver and black BMW for her birthday? Even though she'd have to vacuum the cat hair out of it before she drove it again.

At least it was a weekend. She'd have a few days—provided the BAU didn't get called in on a case—to get Kurt settled in at her condo.

Get herself used to owning a cat.

PRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISS

1.5 MONTHS LATER (3 WKS AFTER THE SUV GOES BOOM—SOMETIME AROUND THE END OF JUNE)

Her cat owned her. And she was going to kill Derek Morgan, eventually. Or thank him. She hadn't made up her mind as she walked into the bullpen at nine o'clock on a Monday morning, nearly six weeks later. Officially she wasn't required to be there until the ten o'clock briefing, but she'd made a habit of arriving early since her assignment to the BAU a year and a half ago.

She'd known she was there on sufferance and she was more than determined to earn her place on this team. She knew she had, but a habit was hard to break. Even though Hotchner told her she was more than a welcome addition to the team, and she could relax, quit over-compensating. Since he'd told her she was part of the heart of the team.

Hotchner. She didn't know what to think about him anymore. He'd been less than welcoming to her from the very beginning. And when Aaron Hotchner gave you the cold shoulder, you felt the chill to the bone. The man had terrified the un-terrifiable. Had faced down the worst of serial killers. Had frozen her to the bone on more than one occasion.

But ever since Rossi's ordeal, Hotch had been running hotter than she'd ever thought she'd see him. And most of the burn was directed solely at her.

His eyes and his touch. His shoulder would graze hers as he walked by, his hand would linger when he handed her a file. He'd call her Emily. He'd smile, just at her. Not to mention the way he'd been in Chicago a few weeks ago.

It freaked her to her toes. Disconcerted her in a way she hadn't been since she'd been a young girl.

What the hell was he up to?

PRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISS

Hotch watched from his office as first Emily then Derek arrived and settled into their desks.

He envied Derek his easy conversation with Emily. The complete lack of tension between the two. The way they totally accepted each other. They exhibited the classic signs of close friendship, of trust, and companionship, and he longed for that—and more—with her.

He hadn't thought of Kate Joyner since the night Rossi had been injured. Hadn't dreamed about Hayley since that night, either. Just strawberry scented dark hair and dark eyes soft and tear-filled. Of small hands caressing him in dreams, of a slightly husky voice saying his name before he kissed her, and more. Of a firm and athletic body pressed against his in a South Dakota barn.

Of being only one man instead of two. Having someone who understood the job and that it didn't always stay at the office. Someone who understands the mind-numbing horrors that he saw every day. But someone who could make him smile anyway, without pressure, without bitterness.

Someone who could get close to _him, _too. Someone he could hold when _her _nightmares got to be too much. Someone he could lean on, but who could lean on him, too.

Hayley never had nightmares—and she hadn't really understood him when he had. He'd never once been able to discuss the pain the job could sometimes bring with his wife of fifteen years. And now that the divorce was final, he actually felt like a completely different kind of man.

But maybe he was coming on _too _strong? Emily had been displaying some serious signs of nervousness in the last three weeks. Ever since he'd held her in the hospital chapel as she'd cried. And ever since Chicago.

Had it only been three weeks since he'd pulled Dave from his burning vehicle? Since the night he'd found Prentiss alone and crying for all that _she'd _endured that day? She'd killed a man, had an officer shot at her feet—and had a friend and team mate seriously hurt. And yet she'd spent the entire time in the hospital waiting room taking care of everyone else

Including him.

And he hadn't noticed.

It had been Detective La Montaigne of all people to point it out.

So he'd went searching for her and found her alone. Separated from the team. It had broken his heart to see her that way.

He'd known what it felt like to fight your demons alone, and she didn't need to do it. He'd held her, and actually felt himself move from the two men he'd been forced to live like for years to the one man he should be.

Soon the rest of the team was in, and Hotchner continued to watch from his office, alone and isolated like always. JJ looked a bit green, morning sickness hitting her hard. Spencer was spouting off, his mouth moving fast as he spoke. He watched as Emily wrapped a hand around the boy's arm and shook it lightly, drawing his attention. Reid looked down at her and smiled, almost embarrassed. Emily teased him before releasing him.

He loved watching the way she was with Reid. The kid was so longing for a family, and Emily fulfilled dual roles—mother and big sister. Spencer needed that. Just like Derek needed a friend he didn't have to mentor, just like JJ and Garcia needed a female confidante who was a bit wiser to the world. How Rossi had needed a female friend who came with no prior preconceptions of the successful author and profiler. Someone who'd visited him more than anyone else while he was recovering, and just listened to him vent.

Emily filled more roles than Elle Greenaway ever had. Elle had been a young agent, one in need of more training, Emily was calm, competent, and invaluable. He remembered Rossi's words to him before he'd been injured. "You don't know that Garcia sees her as something like Wonder Woman, JJ sees her as the big sister she never had—you don't let yourself see how she mother's Reid, how Morgan treats her like his best friend, and you don't see how whenever _you _have a bad day, _she's_ the person right beside you, the one person you talk to. Hell, Aaron, we _send _her to you when we know you're having a rough time."

JJ looked toward the office and caught his eye. He nodded, understanding that she'd identified another case for the team.

It was time to stop another monster.

PRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISS

The plane ride to California was long and bumpy. It was nerve-wracking for everyone. And hell for JJ. Emily held her friend's hair back as she lost her breakfast in the plane's commode for the third time.

"Oh, God." JJ moaned. "I don't know if I can do this, Em."

"Of course you can, JJ. You're one of the strongest people I know." Emily reassured, handing her a wet cloth. "And this too shall pass. Or so I've been told."

"I don't want them to see." JJ said emphatically, though she kept her voice down. The entire team had chosen to sit at the rear of the plane close to the restroom to shorten the distance if they had to get up during the turbulence. It was one thing for Emily to know she was sick—they always shared a hotel room—but the guys didn't need to see her so wimpy.

"The guys? I got your back there." Emily said. "But you know they'll know."

"Can't hide anything from a profiler, can I?"

"No. I won't let them ask you any questions if you don't want them to." Emily promised. "But I think we need to get strapped in. This turbulence isn't doing good for any of us."

"Oh God, no." JJ moaned as another wave of turbulence triggered another wave of nausea. And they still had an eight hour flight to go.

Emily helped her into her seat, and handed her several air sickness bags. They normally didn't need them on this jet. JJ was just fastened in when another strong bit of turbulence hit.

Emily wasn't quite so lucky. She hadn't found her seat in time and the turbulence sent her lurching forward—straight into Hotch's lap. Her elbow caught Reid straight across the nose and he started bleeding.

"Spencer, I am so sorry!" Emily said, as Hotch tightened his hold to prevent her from moving as more turbulence shook the plane.

"Emily! Hold still." He whispered fiercely against her ear. "I don't think it's over yet. Reid's ok."

"Ok. There are some days when I hate flying." Emily muttered back from her awkward position half in the floor, half clutched to her supervisor's lap with her feet caught between Reid's. "Reid, are you alright? I didn't break your nose, did I?"

"Nobe, Embully, juz hi'it kina hard." The good doctor replied, holding a tissue to his face. "I eel be ullride."

"I am so sorry." Hotch's hand was warm on her back, the other tight around her upper arm. She felt the warmth of his thigh against her chest. Talk about awkward. She looked back toward JJ and widened her eyes pleadingly as even more turbulence hit. The younger woman just shrugged helplessly and turned back to her airsickness bag. Garcia patted JJ's knee from across the aisle. Since Rossi'd been injured, the blonde tech had been accompanying them on more cases, just to provide easier access to her research.

JJ couldn't help her. Garcia probably wouldn't. She'd long said Emily should just jump the boss—that someone needed to, else Hotch would freeze up like a Superman sherbet. And process of elimination—since she and JJ were both in relationships—had left Emily to do it. Some how she didn't see that happening anytime soon. If ever.

She looked toward Morgan, but he was handing Reid one tissue at a time and instructing him in the proper way of dealing with a bloody nose.

Emily doubted he'd even think to help her—or think that she'd need it.

The turbulence increased and for a moment—only a moment, as she was a seasoned flyer—she began to doubt the metal bird could withstand anymore. She dropped her head slightly, tucking in tighter to Hotch's stabilizing body. Hotch pulled her up, straight from the floor, and she was momentarily surprised at the power hidden beneath his regulation blue suit. He settled her into the space between him and Reid and she hurriedly buckled the belt.

The plane lurched and JJ moaned from the other side of Hotch. Emily turned back to her, compassion filling her at the misery on her blond friend's face. JJ dropped her head to the back of the seat and closed her eyes, one hand clutching her stomach, the other the airsickness bag.

Hotch shifted slightly, offering a little bit more support to the blonde's side, helping to box her in between the corner seat and his body. Lessened the area she had to bounce around in during the turbulence.

His other arm he draped around Emily, wrapped it around her waist as best he could—tucking her in tight against his chest.

It was the bumpiest ride that he could remember, and he, too, found himself praying it would ease up—or the pilot would just land the damn thing.

But then again, he was wrapped around Emily, so it was a double-edged sword. Why did she insist on using strawberry shampoo? Did she consciously make that decision to taunt him?

If so, it worked.

Poor JJ had finally fallen asleep, and Hotch knew it was due entirely to the changes wracking her body. Reid's nose quit bleeding, though everyone could still sense Emily's sense of guilt. She hadn't made a move to pull herself away from him and he relished that, though he wondered briefly if she was aware of it.

She seemed to fit perfectly right where she was, and he was fighting his body's natural reaction to her closeness. It had been almost eleven months since he'd _been _with Hayley. And his body was reminding him of that. His body and the nightly dreams that featured Agent Emily Prentiss doing some _super _things to her supervisor. Things he reciprocated gladly.

Morgan watched the mini-drama across the aisle from him curiously. In the last couple of weeks—since they'd realized Rossi was going to ultimately survive, Emily had been more nervous of Aaron Hotchner than she'd ever been.

He, as her friend, had seen the signs from the very beginning. So he'd watched.

He'd seen Hotch's hand linger the slightest bit too long on Prentiss's shoulder. Seen the way he'd taken to standing directly between her and any male law enforcement they made contact with—but didn't really know. As if claiming her. He wondered if Hotch was aware of how primitive he was acting.

The way he'd insisted on doing all interrogations that normally Emily could handle on her own—he wanted to be there. Had to be there. Watched menacingly from one side of the table.

Derek thought it was about damned time. Hotch and Hayley had been separated for what? Nine, ten months? The divorce had to be final sometime soon—if it wasn't already. Shouldn't the man be free to date whomever he wanted?

Derek wasn't too sure about Emily's feelings on the matter, though.

He couldn't remember ever seeing Emily Prentiss that skittish and he smiled briefly, thinking of a lion and an antelope. This time, Prentiss was definitely an antelope.

It had been at least three weeks since Rossi's injury—and Hotch had been stalking her like a skilled predator. But Derek knew predators eventually acted. He just wondered when Hotch was going to pounce.

He'd have to watch and find out.

APOCALYPSE TWO

The police station was small and outdated. There wasn't a female officer in the entire building. JJ and Emily knew immediately that this place was going to be riddled with _good ole boys. _

Goody. Just what they needed. They'd both experienced it before. Some men just didn't think women should be in law enforcement. JJ'd gotten it because of her china doll appearance, Emily'd gotten it for just about everything—the way she'd curled her hair, the way she'd dressed, the way she'd backed down, the way she didn't. The question in both their minds, as they followed the head detective into the back office they'd been relegated to, was just what where they going to have to do to prove themselves this time. Garcia hadn't experienced what the two agents had, so she paid it little mind—though she got more than her fair share of looks as the team walked in.

Unfair, unjust, just not right—but it was just the way it was.

Detective Scott Palmers was around Hotch's age, slightly shorter, built more like Morgan. Emily supposed he was a handsome man, but the minute he opened his mouth he lost all his charm.

"I want you all to know we don't put much stock in all that talk about profiling. This isn't some television show." Palmers said, looking at the group derisively, eyes lingering on the women for only a second. But it was enough for Emily to read him accurately. Great. "Second, we have a strict way of running investigations in this office. I take you to remember that."

"Sir, respectively, we are here to help you catch the man who killed these people._ We _will be running the investigation our way. But you will be making the collar, not us. That's not we're after." Hotch began, tone calm, resolute, and final. "Still, we are well aware that this isn't a television show—what we do is the real thing. And we're all damned good at it. Now if you're ready to begin we need to see everything, every piece of evidence, every witness report, everything you've got will tell us a bit more about this man."

"I'll have Jimmy round up the files. Is there anything else you'll be needing? A couple of chairs for the ladies, perhaps?" He stared at JJ a moment, taking in the pale complexion and the circles under her eyes, before turning to run his gaze over Emily, in her blue tank blouse and black dress slacks. He smirked and it rankled Emily, before he turned to look at the third woman in the room. He actually looked pained at the bright red and white polka dot blouse Garcia was wearing.

No one on the team had missed the barrenness of the room they'd found themselves in. All that was in it was a metal shelf, surrounded by four gray walls. And it was small—most likely used as an interrogation area. Cold and unwelcoming. Deliberately.

"We'll need chairs, a white board and a table large enough to spread everything out on. Other than that, we need the detectives who first drew the case." Hotch said.

"Yes, sir. Agent Hotchner." Palmers said. He passed by Emily on his way out the door and his eyes lingered minutely on the skin exposed by the low V of her blouse.

She wanted to fold her arms over her chest but knew better. She couldn't let him win his little game.

She was better than that. Still, if she'd drawn his attention rather than JJ or Garcia it was a blessing in disguise, really. The younger woman was not up to dealing with lecherous hick cops at the moment. Poor thing would have her hands full with the media as it was. And Garcia would shred the man. Pity, they'd not be able to let her, but it wouldn't be good for the team's reputation.

It took nearly an hour for the supplies Hotch ordered to arrive. Two young officers, in there early thirties, carried the five folding chairs and the table in a few successive trips. They set them up almost wordlessly, then the shorter of the two wheeled in a battered bulletin board.

"I'm Jimmy Allen, I got the first call." The older, taller, one said, holding out a hand to Hotchner. The man had just looked like he was in charge, though Hotchner and the team had said very little. "I'm sorry about the Sheriff. He can be a bit exclusive to strangers."

"It's nice to meet you, I'm SSA Hotchner and this is my team, SSA Derek Morgan, Dr. Spencer Reid, SA Jennifer Jareau—whom I believe you spoke with on the phone—Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, and SSA Emily Prentiss. What can you tell us about what you've found so far?"

"I'm not sure _what _we've got. I've, uh, not had my shield all that long, and I will be the first to admit this is the worst I've ever seen. Hell, I was a lawyer before moving to the force." He was an attractive man, with burnished hair and bright green eyes. He had an honest, and earnest face, and Emily immediately felt comfortable with him. "A friend from the FBI's Portland field office suggested I give you guys a call—and the mayor of the city owed me a personal favor, so he issued the official invite."

"Over Palmers' head? Man, you are brave." Morgan whistled through his teeth. Cops didn't break the chain of command without very good reason.

"Not many here agree with Palmers' way of doing things—although first shift certainly does. You'll probably find second shift more cooperative." Allen said, holding out a chair for the youngest blonde woman. His sharp eyes hadn't missed the pale face, the slightly nauseated look, or the slight swelling of her stomach. He'd seen enough pregnant women to recognize one of the verge of losing whatever contents were still in her stomach.

"In that case, let's go over what evidence you've collected then head to dinner and the hotel. We'll come back here later this evening." Hotch ordered, checking his watch.

"About that—the hotels around here were completely booked, it's a big convention weekend—I could only get one free room. I didn't realize there would be six of you coming in. But it's got double beds, and a pull out couch. I hope that's alright?"

"Last month we slept in a hay barn, man. Don't sweat it." Morgan said, appreciating the man's sincerity. "Although Reid here talks in his sleep constantly, I think we'll manage."

"I do not."

"Honey, yes you do. You were talking about comic books on the plane." Emily told him gently. "Something about Wonder Woman and Superman."

"At least I don't kick." He retorted. "JJ and Garcia said you kick like Pele."

"So I've heard." Emily shrugged ruefully, as everyone eyed her.

"I'm not sharing with Emily!" Both JJ and Garcia said, eliciting a small laugh from the rest of the group.

"And I'm not sleeping on a coffee table—again." Emily challenged. Her back had hurt for days after that.

"Can we get back on track here?" Hotch chastised softly, though his lips were twitching. He hadn't thought she kicked like Pele that night in the barn. But she sure did like to cuddle tight. "Detective Allen, what can you tell us about the first site?"

"It was an office building. Six workers were poisoned. We've determined it was a snake venom, but who or why—we have drawn a complete blank. Two days later, it was a law firm clear across town. Three more died. Same venom." Allen explained, handing Hotch forensic reports. Emily moved closer to the supervisor to read around his shoulder. "Mojave rattlesnake. But no one had any bite marks, and we can't identify the system of delivery. We tested all food products, all products that could possibly come into contact with a person's mouth. Nothing."

"Poisons are generally a distant crime." Reid said, as he too scanned the report from behind Hotch's other shoulder. "And very organized. They have to be to be effective."

"Could be either a male or a female—a lot of female killers choose poison because it's less messy." Emily added, as she moved to take a seat at the table. Everyone else followed suit, Hotch to the left of her and Detective Allen to the right. "Still, why two separate locations? A woman would generally pick one target, and one only, and would profit materially from the victim's death. Of the small percentage of serial killers who are women, only a fraction kill those outside of the family. And most of them kill for financial gain. Detective Allen, did you check who benefitted from the nine victims' deaths? Anyone stand out?"

"No, ma'am. Most of the victims were on stable financial feet, most had reasonable insurance policies, and everyone seemed genuinely grief-stricken." Allen answered, trying not to notice how striking her dark hair and eyes were. He'd always been partial to dark haired women. "We looked carefully at _everyone _who benefitted in any way. Plus the majority of the insurance companies are refraining from paying until the case is closed."

"I don't know," Reid started, "This kind of snake venom is relatively easy to come by, correct? But it's not in a synthetic form or bottled easily. Someone would have to physically extract it from the snake, correct?"

The detective nodded.

"It definitely probably wasn't a woman, then." JJ said, looking at the picture of the snake in the encyclopedia the detective had marked, and shuddering. "I wouldn't get close to that thing for all the money in the world."

"I wouldn't, either." Emily agreed emphatically, releasing her own shudder. "But we can't really rule out a woman until we have a bit more to go on."

"We need to find out the method of delivery." Morgan said. "What else are you doing to identify it?"

"We've seized everything in the offices. Pens, papers, tested water jugs, soap dispensers, anything that can disguise a toxin. So far, nothing." Allen said, and the profilers could see the frustration in his face.

"So let's move past the poison and focus on the person behind it. For now, we'll assume the victims were random, and profile the companies they all worked for." Hotch said, momentarily distracted when Emily's knee bumped his thigh under the table. The room was extremely small, and hot, and he could smell sweat and the sweet scent of strawberries. It was late June in the middle of Northern California. He loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair. Emily and JJ had both shucked their jackets the instant they'd stepped out of the vehicles, and theirs hung in nearly identical positions. "What do we know?"

"Law firm. Medical malpractice suits, siding with the doctors, mostly." Emily began. "And a small commercial building with companies ranging from investments to counseling services for the elderly. The victims all worked at JL Libstein and Associates, an investment company."

"So no obvious connection there." JJ said, as she helped Garcia setup her computer system.

"Well, both lawyers and investment advisors share similar characteristics," Spencer said. "Higher education, white collar backgrounds, a certain typology of people choose both careers. So maybe that's why they were targeted."

"Tomorrow morning, we'll split up. JJ and Garcia, you'll work on finding out what ever you can on each of the two companies. Reid and Morgan, I want you to do interviews at the law firm, Prentiss and I will take the financial investment company. Detective Allen, if you'd like to accompany us and your partner Agent Morgan?" Hotch instructed. Allen's partner, Detective Kinsey, was off on a personal day and they'd yet to meet him.

"That'll be great." Allen said, "If you want, I can drive you to the hotel, get you settled."

"That'll be great." Hotch said, as Emily and JJ began sorting all the files into neat stacks for easier access in the morning. They'd of course, have digital copies on their handhelds, but paper copies were often so much more tangible.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

The hotel room seemed even smaller than the interrogation room. There were two beds, like promised, but one was barely wider than a twin. The other was a standard double. The couch was a two-seater, but the manager promised it pulled out into another double bed. It was dark green and faded, and looked anything but comfortable. Where the hell were they going to sleep?

Derek and Reid eyed the twin mattress, and then each other. No way were they sharing that. So that left the couch pull out. But what about the girls? Could all three fit into the double bed comfortably?

Somebody was going to end up in the floor. And it wouldn't be JJ.

"Let's get settled," Hotch said, looking around the cramped fifteen by twenty room with its dark paneled walls and pea green carpet. "Then find food. I think it would be best if we spent as little time in here as possible."

"I agree with you there," Emily said, shoving her ready bag under the bed. "Can this place get any hotter?"

"Unfortunately, it can." Reid said.

"No—don't tell me!" Emily protested, holding up a staying hand. "I don't want to know. But I do want ice cream, so let's get moving, boys."

"Yes, ma'am." Derek said, saluting. "Hotch, did Det. Allen say where he was meeting us?"

"A family diner two miles from here." Hotch said, "He's swinging by to pick up his partner, on the way."

"Come on," JJ ordered, "I want ice cream, too. Lots of it."

Everyone smiled at her, knowingly.

"What? Can't a girl want ice cream in hundred degree weather?" She shrugged.

"Ice cream has a high percentage of calcium, but also a high percentage of sugar." Reid began, "Pregnant women need to increase their calcium by—"

"_Reid, _I want ice cream, not a lecture on prenatal care." JJ warned, as Emily and Garcia snickered behind her. Reid was so enthusiastic about JJ's baby. It was cute. "So let's move!"

Emily, Reid, and JJ ended up riding with Hotch. JJ'd hopped into the front seat quickly, and Emily knew it was to discourage Reid from continuing his line of conversation. Emily didn't mind. She settled into the back seat and stared out the window, lost in thought.

The diner was surprisingly busy when they entered, although a lot of the diners—regulars, most likely—looked up and stared at the six people who walked in. It was a small town, and news of there arrival must have spread. Emily knew what they looked like. Two platinum blonds dressed in business suits and skirts—although Garcia's wasn't sedate by any means, Derek, dark and gorgeous, dressed like an army commando in his black fatigues and charcoal t-shirt, weapon holstered at his side, Spencer, tall and lanky, his gun sticking at an awkward angle on his narrow hips. And her and Hotch, dressed in professional suits, their own weapons not hidden in the least. She and Hotchwere the stereotypical g-men that people thought of when they heard FBI. They formed an intimidating half-dozen, and not a one of them doubted it.

Detective Allen stood, catching their attention from the largest booth in the very back of the restaurant. A pretty woman, petite but fit, with honey brown hair and glasses sat beside him. Emily guestimated her age to be around twenty-five or six. Young to be a detective. Emily led the way to the two, aware of Hotch's hand on the small of her back as they wove through the crowded diner, and it's staring patrons.

"Hello, Detective Allen." Emily said, smiling, as she slipped into the booth ahead of Hotch. She met up with JJ on the other side. Soon they were all crowded around the booth.

"This is my partner, Max Kinsey." Detective Allen said. "Max, this is SSAs Hotchner, Prentiss, Jareau, Morgan, Dr. Reid, and TA Garcia."

"It's nice to meet you, and thank you for coming to help us so quickly." Det. Kinsey said, smiling at each agent as they were introduced. She had a pretty smile, with freckles dancing across her nose. "This case has us all baffled."

"It's our pleasure." Hotch said, as the menus were being passed around. "We have only one rule—we don't discuss the cases while we eat."

"Sounds reasonable." Max said. "I recommend the fried chicken with mashed potatoes. It's the best."

"Works for me." Emily said. The waitress chose that moment to appear and Emily placed her order. Soon everyone else followed suit, although they chose a wide variety of menu items. When the food arrived, they were discussing the finer beaches of California. Detectives Allen and Kinsey were funny and engaging and everyone found they were having a great time.

Emily got her ice cream, as did JJ, Reid, and Garcia. The flavors were as varied as the individuals consuming them. JJ traded half her chocolate for half of Emily's strawberry. Hotch kept sneaking bites of the pink confection out of Emily's bowl, but she didn't mind.

She'd long known he was crazy for strawberries, and the homemade sweet was some of the best she'd ever had. She'd really been surprised he'd not ordered some of his own.

They'd just finished the last of the cold treat when Allen's telephone rang.

There had been more murders. And as the only homicide detectives on the small force, he and Max were being called back in. Which meant the team was being called back in, too.

After all, what were the odds that a town with a population of only three thousand people would have twelve people murdered over a span of a week and the deaths _not _be related?

The odds just weren't that good.

APOCALYPSE THREE

Twelve murders, two different MOs, Hotch thought as he, Allen, Prentiss, and Morgan stared at the scene fifteen feet down the hill from them. Three young women lay gutted and tossed aside in the field. Reid, JJ, and Garcia had accompanied Max Kinsey back to the station house. It was going to be a long night.

Dammit, Hotch thought, angry at the senseless loss of three young women—all within the age range of the members of his team. His mind pictured the three women as Emily, Garcia, and JJ, and he vowed silently that these women's family would get the answers they deserved—just like he'd want the answers if it was Emily and the others so brutally murdered.

That was why he did this job, so that women like his team mates could be safe at night, so children like his Jack could play without fear. That was why he was the BAU. Why it was who he was, more than what he did.

"What do we know so far?" Emily asked in a soft voice. She was always the one to help him keep the case on track, even when he wasn't aware that he was loosing focus. "Are we absolutely sure this is related to the other deaths?"

"We wouldn't have called you out here if we weren't." Chief Palmers said from behind her.

"What makes you think they are?" Morgan demanded. "Different MOs, different victimology, different location. All of it says two UNSUBs to me."

"This town has had four murders in the last twenty years—and twelve in the last week. That's why." Palmers snarled. He liked it when his job was uneventful—save for the occasional drunk driver. Now he had twelve dead people to deal with—and it was an election year. So either these Feds hurried up and caught the guy, or Palmers would take matters into his own hands.

"Stranger things have happened," Emily said distractedly, as she moved forward an bent down to look at the nearest body. Hotch instinctively copied her movements. "Hotch, this doesn't look like blood. It looks almost like red paint or enamel, or something."

"Detective Allen, can you see that this is processed as a rush?" Morgan asked, looking at the other detective. "We need to know what this is ASAP."

"We've just got the one tech." Palmers started. "Allen—call him in."

"I already have…sir." Allen said, leaning a hand down to assist Emily up. She took it wordlessly before moving to the next body.

It was a blonde woman and she looked so much like JJ Emily almost shuddered. She hated when that happened, when one of the victims reminded her of someone. Inevitably in her dreams they change from the poor victim into her friends.

She probably wouldn't sleep tonight, either. She'd most likely end up sitting in the hotel lobby—if it had one—waiting to watch the sunrise. It's what she did when it got bad. Derek and JJ teased her, saying she was the ghost who haunted the various hotels. Said they were going to call TAPS to come to the BAU and search for EVPs or some such nonsense.

Thinking of those two helped get her back on track, so that she was able to see that the same strange coloring was on the other two victims as well.

Why would there be red enamel on their victims—in the same location as the stab marks? It just didn't make sense.

"There's not much more we can do here, tonight." Hotch called it, knowing that it was late, and the tests and autopsies would take a lot of time. "We should head back to the hotel and get some sleep. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll want us to talk to the victims' families again. See if there's anything we missed."

Emily and Morgan both nodded; neither really liked taking the break, but knew that they'd do better with clear heads. "I need time to think, Hotch. Something's tickling the back of my brain."

"A good night's sleep should help." Hotch told her, as he walked with her back to the SUV. "Not that we'll be sleeping all that great in that hotel."

"It's much better than a barn." Emily replied, quietly. Morgan and Allen were several yards behind them. "That was pretty uncomfortable."

"I don't know, I didn't have any complaints." Hotch said, eyes flaring with momentary heat, remembering the feel of her pressed against him.

"I did." Emily insisted. "That hay was scratchy."

"Yes, it was." Hotch said as he climbed in and buckled his seat belt. "But the company wasn't bad."

"Reid's talk of horror movies didn't bother you, huh?" Emily understood that the humor they exhibited was just another way of coping with what they'd just seen. "It was a dark and terrifying night, and poor JJ…the first to go."

"Hey, at least _you _were guaranteed to survive." Hotch quipped as he pulled the SUV out behind Allen's.

"According to Reid." Emily paused a moment, looking out at the clear night sky and the stars overhead. "I don't think it's the same UNSUB."

"I don't either. I'm not even sure they're connected. I mean, other than geographically—is there anything else to tie them together?" Hotch said.

"Chief Palmers certainly thinks so." Emily said, ruefully. The man grated more each time she saw him.

"Chief Palmers is lazy, sloppy, and old-school. He's bound to hear hoofs and think zebras." Hotch said, bluntly.

"Add in he's sexist, disgusting, perverted—and I think you'll have him about right." Emily said, closing her eyes.

"Excuse me?" Hotch turned his head in her direction, surprised. "Something I should know about?"

"Nothing really. Just that some men tend to view women in law enforcement derogatorily. We've already gotten the stares and the condescending remarks—today. But at least we've not been grabbed at—yet."

"You've been grabbed? When? Besides that guy in South Dakota?" Hotch would never forget seeing her fall over that cliff just because some damned drunk wanted a feel.

"Yes. Previous cases."

"While with the BAU?"

"Yeah, Hotch. JJ and I both have. It almost goes with the territory." Was he really that clueless? He was one of the forerunners of behavioral sciences and he hadn't noticed two members of his team getting groped? "You can't tell me you've not noticed? JJ—kicking that guy in Fredericksburg? My drink just happens to fall in Officer Peterson's lap in Santa Fe?"

"I thought JJ tripped."

"No…" Emily paused a moment, then laughed lightly. "We just thought you didn't care, and left it to us to handle it—are you telling me you just didn't notice?"

"I expect the law enforcement agents we encounter to behave professionally and treat every member of my team with the utmost respect." Hotch said. "They must not have done anything while I was around."

"Granted, I didn't notice if you were or not. But I know Derek's seen it happen, and Reid. Even Rossi's stepped in a time or two when things got out of hand."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For _not _noticing, doing something to stop it. You two shouldn't have to face that—its disrespectful, demeaning, and out of line. The next time something like that happens, I want to be made aware of it."

"We have to fight our own battles, Hotch. We can't appear to look weak. You should understand that." Emily cautioned. "If we have to have a big strong man ride to the rescue it doesn't exactly give the strongest impression. We have our ways of dealing with it."

"So did anyone ever cross the line?" Hotch asked. He knew what she was saying, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Someone had threatened _her, _and it made him furious.

"Once. The Vermont case. Arlington and Jackson—two of the local law enforcement--came to the hotel room." Emily couldn't entirely repress the shudder at the thought. "They were drunk."

"What happened?" Hotch's hands tightened on the wheel. They'd been in Vermont the month after Hayley'd served him divorce papers. It was the same week she'd told him she was seeing someone else—a lawyer of all things. She'd called him constantly, wanting to fight over the house, the furniture, Jack. She'd done it deliberately, wanting to distract him from the job she resented so much. He'd not been too aware of what was going on around him, and he hated that he might have missed something so integral.

"They somehow got in the door. Met the business end of our service weapons. Plus Morgan and Rossi heard them jimmying our door." Emily didn't tell him how close Arlington's slimy palms had gotten to her skin before she'd grabbed her gun off the nightstand. Or how Jackson had been standing over JJ's bed, unbuckling his belt. Or how Rossi and Derek—and even Reid—had hauled the two locals outside and told them how things were done on the federal level. "That pretty much took care of it."

"Dammit. Why didn't I hear all this? I sent you out with Arlington the next day!"

"Why do you think Rossi chose to go, too? And we didn't want to bother you, Hotch. You had enough going on. And we took care of it. Jay and I aren't helpless." Even though it had scared the shit out of JJ, and Emily wasn't much better.

"Of course not. But as your supervisor—and your friend—I want to know the next anything untoward happens. Understand me?" His hand left the wheel and found hers, squeezing insistently.

"Understand. We, uh, sleep with a chair under our door knob now." Emily admitted. "It surprised us. We were ok, would have been fine without Rossi, Reid, and Derek's help—but they got in without JJ or I hearing them. It was only at the last minute I grabbed my gun. It distracted them enough for JJ to get hers, too. Derek and Rossi heard us telling them to get out, had heard them trying to get in our room. The team was in our room in seconds, Hotch. We were ok, but JJ was pretty shaken up. That's why she always books us into the same room, even when singles are available. And Garcia, too. We all stay together."

"Dammit, Emily. Promise me, you'll tell me next time. Let me handle it." Hotch's blood was chilled completely as he imagined what she and JJ had experienced on _his _watch. _Damn Hayley and her machinations. _Emily and JJ could have been seriously hurt, while Hayley was arguing over his grandmother's chair.

"If I feel it's appropriate." Emily finally agreed. "I promise."

Emily was glad to see the hotel looming in the distance, despite what she knew would be a cramped, uncomfortable night. She wanted a shower and bed, in that order.

She drew one of the short sticks—was fourth in line for the shower. Poor Reid got relegated to the morning, so it could have been worse. Of course, a cold shower did nothing to help her relax. She hurried as best she could, vanilla body scrub and her special strawberry shampoo and conditioner always soothing her. Reminding her that there were smells besides death and rot. She hurriedly dressed in her favorite red tank and a pair of black sweats she'd swiped from Derek months earlier. When she was finished she left the bathroom and gave Hotch the all clear to take his own shower, then she stretched out on what she knew would be Hotch's bed—the pullout couch—while he took his own shower, and started towel drying her dark hair.

No one else spoke, either, all tired, and content to be winding down. Derek and Spence were lying in opposite directions in the smaller of the beds—Spence's feet six inches from the back of Derek's head. JJ and Garcia were long gone, exhaustion taking both blondes under quickly.

Hotch's couch was almost comfortable. She could feel her body relaxing softly, and she tried to fight it, knowing he'd pulled the straw for the privilege of sleeping solo. Right then, she didn't care. He'd just have to wake her when she needed to crowd in with JJ and Garcia. Right then, on top of the cover, she was perfectly comfortable…

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Even though four other people had recently used the shower, it smelled like the woman he couldn't stop thinking about. In fact, the smell of Emily and strawberries was nearly overwhelming. He found the reason sitting neatly on the edge of the shower. Emily's shampoo. She'd left the bottle behind. He picked it up, eyeing the label, twisting off the cap to breathe it in.

The scent of strawberries was so strong he could taste the berry tartness on his tongue.

God, he loved strawberries.

He replaced the cap, and looked at the half empty bottle. It wasn't a very big bottle. He touched it again, twirling it around in one hand as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other.

She'd probably never miss it. He looked at it again, obviously torn, before tucking it stealthily in the bottom of his ready bag. No, she'd probably never miss it. He'd just take it home with him, and put it in _his _bathroom. Just because he loved the smell of strawberries—he told himself. And the shampoo—an expensive blend—was redolent with the scent.

It never even occurred to him that his behavior shouted obsession. If it had, he wouldn't have cared.

Like Emily's, his own shower was nearly freezing so he didn't dawdle. When he came out of the restroom everyone was sound asleep—including the dark-eyed woman stretched out on top of his pullout bed.

Minus the four members of the team currently occupying the other beds, and it would have been one of the fantasies that had been plaguing him the last few weeks. God, she was even wearing _the _shirt. The red tank that showed so much, while revealing nothing. He loved that shirt on the best of days, and now she was lying in _his _bed, wearing _that _shirt—and no bra.

His body was tenser than if a raving serial killer was standing in the room with them as he approached the bed. He stowed his ready bag under the pullout and contemplated just what he was going to do with her.

Ruthlessly shoving aside the thoughts of what he _wanted _to do _to _her.

Her hair was wet, and he realized it was curling wildly. Natural. He loved her hair when it curled. It shouted warm, sexy woman, rather than the calm, sedate, professional woman that was indicated by the smooth, straight locks she favored during the work week.

Hotch looked at the hotel room, dim as the light by the couch was the only one lit and it hardly counted as a light at all. Everyone was exhausted, sound asleep. Garcia and JJ had little room in the bed, and he just couldn't bring himself to shove Emily over there.

The way she squirmed—was squirming even now—she'd fall into the floor. Hotch didn't want any member of his team sleeping on that dirty floor—especially Emily.

Still, it would be inappropriate for them to sleep together. Not that he'd let anything happen—at least, not with the other team members in the room.

He made up his mind, and pulled back the covers; he tucked her under both the faded comforter and the top sheet before sliding in on top of the loose sheet. He'd just keep the thin cotton between their bodies, to prevent the appearance of impropriety.

The mattress tipped alarmingly when he slid up behind her, and she squirmed. She snuggled herself into his chest, tightly, like she had weeks earlier, while sleeping in a pile of hay. Like then, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her even closer to him, letting her feel his warmth in the unregulated coldness of the nearly antiquated air conditioning.

She smelled like sweet strawberries, and Hotch fell asleep with the tartness in his lungs, and her body pressed lovingly against his.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch woke when the bed beside him shifted. Emily was moving restlessly, and his mind immediately flashed to what Rossi had said in the barn two weeks earlier. _My second ex was a squirmer, too. Nightmares. I'd hold her tight and she'd settle down._

Unthinkingly, he pulled her back into his arms, wondering idly when she'd rolled away. She fought him, slightly, and rolled on her back, her right arm tucked between them, and her left coming to fist in the soft cotton material of his FBI PT t-shirt, right over his heart.

Soft whimpers came from her mouth, and Hotch's blood ran icy. Emily was having a nightmare. Should he wake her? Pull her close? He didn't want to overstep the bounds between them—not yet. She—he—neither, was ready for that. But he didn't want her waking the rest of the team.

"Hotch, man?" Derek asked. He was a light sleeper and easily awakened. "She ok?"

"Shh. Nightmare, I think." Hotch said, as he ran one hand down her side. He whispered reassurances to her, tucked her head on his chest, and pulled her half over him. He held her tightly, one large hand splayed over her back. "I think she's ok, now."

"Good, man. Good night." Derek said, smiling softly at what he'd just seen in the dim hotel light. Hotch's face had actually been more open to him than it had in years. What he'd seen hadn't really surprised him.

Hotch was falling—and falling fast—for Derek's best friend. And he couldn't think of any two people who deserved each other more.


	11. Chapter 12

APOCALYPSE FOUR

**Curtis Judalet** said:

_Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never . . . never forget it._

Emily awoke completely disconcerted. She was draped over her supervisor in a way that was nowhere near professional, with nothing separating them but the thin cotton of their night clothes. And his warm hand was under the back of her tank top, making lazy circles on her skin, ghosting ever so close to the sides of her breasts where they lay crushed against him. Her knee was cocked over his thigh, his other hand wrapped tightly around it, keeping her firmly in place. Her head rested on his firm chest, pressed against his beating heart.

It had been a _long _time since Emily had woken held this close to a man—she didn't count North Dakota, and while she definitely admitted it felt good—the entire idea that it was _Hotch _she was draped over freaked her to her toes.

His hand trailed lazily down her spine, and she arched slightly—until the exploring fingers dipped beneath the elastic on her sweats.

_Whoa. That was _so_ not happening. _She thought as she stiffened. She started to pull away, dragging her knee off his hip—feeling the change in his body. _Oh, shit!_

His hand tightened, pulling her knee back to where it was, then higher. So that it was closer to his groin. Closer to _him. _His other hand splayed over her right where it was, at the top of her ass. He moaned, a near silent sound that traveled no further than her ears. "Shh, Em. Don't move. Please. It's ok."

_Oh, shit! _She thought again—realizing he wasn't cuddling her because he was used to having a warm body beside him. Realized he wasn't dreaming about his ex- wife as he stroked her, as his fingers tightened even lower on her ass, but that he _knew _it was her in bed with him. Knew it was her he was touching. Knew because he was awake, had been awake _long_ before she was. Because _he'd _been the one to climb into bed with her.

This wasn't like that night in the barn. She'd woken the next morning snuggled against his side, yes, but his hands had stayed decorously to himself. There were none of these soft caresses beneath her shirt—or the rhythmic clenching of his hip muscles as he pulled her ever more closer, as he tightened his grip on her thigh, massaging the firm muscle.

She had to get out of his arms before something _really _happened, something they'd both regret, something that could ruin both their careers. Emily Prentiss had never had an office romance—or even a fling—in her entire life—and she doubted Hotchner had either.

She wasn't sure she wanted to have one now—no matter how good his hands felt, hot against the sensitive skin on her sides, close but not touching the soft swells of her breasts as he stroked her.

She had to get out of his arms before it was too late. Or someone else in the room woke and noticed just what was going on between her and her supervisor. How on earth would she explain _this _to JJ or Pen? Or even Derek?

She took the hand clenching around her knee and pulled it free, moving it firmly back to lay on the other side of him. It wasn't even a full second before the hand resting on the swell of her ass moved, bumping her up, bringing her more fully onto his chest. The hand she'd just freed returned, this time settling on her waist mere inches from his other. He shifted, half on to his side, and tightened his arms. Soon she was lying directly against him—chest to chest, thigh to thigh. So close she could feel every change that had taken place in his body.

"Hotch?" Her voice trembled, her nerves clear and apparent for him. But he didn't care, all that he could think about was the last three weeks of longing, of dreaming of her in that very position. And he'd woken and found her right where he'd wanted her.

His thinking wasn't clouded, his judgment wasn't impaired—Aaron Hotchner always woke immediately clear headed, so he knew exactly what he was doing as he pulled her closer, nudged one knee between hers to press against her body. His lips trailed over her forehead, brushing a kiss against the tangled dark strands there. "Shh, Em. Go back to sleep."

He never touched her anywhere but her back, the top swelling of her ass, the tender skin of her sides—never anywhere else. But he never stopped touching her there, either.

"Hotch!" Her whisper was a broken hiss, breathy and soft, the touch of it brushing against his neck. He shivered, and she felt the movement throughout his body, where it was pressed against hers. "I really shouldn't be here like this."

"It's all right—there's no way you'd be comfortable with JJ and Garcia." Hotch knew exactly what she was upset about, knew it was a dangerous game they were suddenly playing. Knew all the ramifications of what he wanted to do to her, with her. "You're fine right here. Nobody'll say anything."

"But…" Emily trailed off as he placed a finger against her lips. "_Sir! _We really should not be lying here, _like this!"_

"We're not hurting anything." Hotch said in an emphatic whisper. "And nobody would have to know if we did. It's no one's business."

"_I would know." _Emily said, squirming slightly—until he moaned, low in his throat.

"If you don't want us to do anything, you might just want to _stop __moving_, Emily." Hotch growled.

Emily froze, just what he meant ever clear in her mind. Her dark eyes looked into his, glowing in the small lamplight. He'd obviously left it burning, and she knew he'd done it for Morgan—who'd told her of his secret fear of the dark after the last Portland case they'd had.

It had been a long time since a man had looked at her that way. And until the last three weeks, she'd never expected to see quite that look in her supervisor's eyes. His body was hard against hers, stronger than it looked when he was clad in those characterless suits he favored. He was equally as toned as Morgan, and she could feel every one of those muscles pressed against her, tight and ready.

And she knew exactly what they were ready for.

"Just go back to sleep. We've only a few hours until we have to get up." Hotch ordered, tucking her head under his chin. "Nothing will happen, you know you can trust me."

"Hotch, I've learned recently that I don't know you at all." She said, into his neck. He waited a moment, not moving, except to breathe, until her body relaxed, releasing the tension that had held her so taut. Until he felt her pressed so softly closer. "_This_ surprises me. Worries me."

"I know." Hotch said, unconsciously burying his face in the tangled curls above her head. "Surprises me, as well. Go to sleep. We can talk when the case is finished."

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Derek and JJ stared down at the sleeping couple, speculatively.

"I'll admit I wondered, but to see it like this—I never would have thought." The blonde whispered. "Quick."

"Quicker than I thought he'd be capable of, especially after Hayley." Derek admitted, staring down at his boss and his best friend. "Do you think we should wake them?"

"No need." Hotch said, making both jump. He hadn't even opened his eyes. "I'm awake. Let her sleep a bit longer."

"The, uh, restroom's free," JJ told him, watching as his arms tightened around Emily—before he rolled on his back carefully. Emily protested softly, until he re-tucked the blanket around her, to block out the chill of the air conditioning. She rolled completely on her stomach, one fist shooting up and out before her arm wrapped fully around his pillow. Soon the only sign of her was a few curls visible above the blanket.

Hotch moved carefully to the edge of the pullout, not wanting to tip the precarious mattress and wake her up. Not wanting JJ to see what the physical ramifications were to waking up in the morning with Emily draped over him. With his hand spread over the warm flesh of her back.

He hurriedly used the restroom, washed up, changed, and completed his toiletry. When he emerged, Spencer was waiting impatiently for his turn. Fifteen minutes later the boy was ready. Hotch, Derek, and Reid left the hotel room, after giving JJ instructions to meet them back at the diner they'd visited last night, in an hour.

JJ woke Garcia up first, and the blonde tech whistled her way to the restroom. JJ smiled, the older blonde always woke happy, just happy to have another bright day with her friends, no matter what they day may bring, it was another day with the people she cared about.

While Garcia was in the shower, JJ contemplated just what she was going to say to her dark haired friend. She shook Emily awake and sank down onto the bed. "Girl. You've got a lot of explaining to do."

"Uh." Emily said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Waking up was not something she did easily. "What are you talking about?"

"You're in Hotch's bed—again." JJ reminded her. "When I woke up you were curled around him like Morgan does a cinnamon roll. And his hands weren't exactly in proper, Hotch-like positions this time. In fact, whenever I wake up with Will's hands in similar positions…well, let's just say—I'll show you the ultrasound if you need reminding. What's up?"

"God and only Hotch knows." Emily said, as Garcia strolled out of the restroom. "I don't have a clue what game the man is playing at. Or whether I have an equal position on the board."

"Chickadee, what on earth did I miss? Is our Wonder Woman finally going to shag Superman?" Garcia squealed, and dropped onto the pullout bed. "Yummy. So how did you end up sleeping in _his_ bed?"

"I sat down while he was in the shower. Just long enough to towel dry my hair, without waking you two up…and I must have drifted off." Emily admitted. "I would have thought he'd have woken me up to move, but the next time I opened my eyes, I was, well…he was…"

"OOOOH. Go on." Garcia ordered, as JJ's eyes widened.

"Let's just say I thought he was dreaming of his wife—ex-wife, at first. Then he said my name. And I realized he wasn't asleep." Emily admitted, not normally so free with her private life.

But she needed a second—and third—opinion on what was happening with Hotch.

"What did he do? What did _you_ do?" JJ asked, both excited and apprehensive at what she thought Emily was implying.

"He didn't do anything inappropriate. Well, too inappropriate, anyway." Emily admitted, thinking of the way his hands had felt against her skin. "But he wouldn't let me switch beds."

"How hard did you insist?" JJ asked, wryly. As Garcia asked, excited, "Did he kiss you?"

"He held me pretty tight. But I didn't exactly fight him off. I wasn't thinking all that clearly." Emily hedged. "He didn't kiss me, Garcia. At least, well…not really."

"OOOOH. But his lips did touch you somewhere, right?" The analyst asked, slyly. "Come on, Em. This is _so_ exciting! Just like a movie!"

"A Lifetime movie," Emily said, dryly. "Idiot woman develops feelings for her unavailable boss."

"I thought it was his feelings that would make the movie." Garcia crowed. "So we're talking about your feelings, are we?"

"No. I don't know how I feel about all this." Emily admitted. "I can't say I've ever been in this situation before."

"I doubt Hotch has, either." JJ said, thinking of the man's fifteen plus year marriage.

"Well, he certainly seems to know what's going on a whole let better than I do." Emily said, standing and retreating to the bathroom. She ruthlessly pushed thoughts of Aaron Hotchner to the back of her mind, put him in his own, neat little compartment with a label that shouted _Warning: Danger Ahead! _over the top of it.

Cold Aaron Hotchner was hotter than dynamite, and she'd better decide whether she wanted to be a part of that explosion or not.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Breakfast was more of an ordeal than Emily ever thought it could be. She dropped JJ and Garcia off at the door before parking the SUV, and making her way slowly into the café. She moved to open the door, but a rugged hand reached around her and opened it for her. A man, handsome in an outdoorsy way, smiled down at her. "Allow me, ma'am."

"Thanks," She smiled softly as her eyes searched the diner and its patrons for the team. They occupied the same booth they had last night. The man at the door faded from her mind as her dark eyes met an equally dark gaze.

What the hell was she supposed to do now?

The man in question stood, allowing her to slide over the seat next to Garcia. As he settled back in the booth, she felt his heat scorching her through the thin cotton of her charcoal fatigues.

Suddenly, she wasn't all that hungry. Her stomach was tied tighter than the most experienced sailor's knot, every moment of their early morning encounter replaying in her mind. Her eyes met his, momentarily, and she _knew _he was remembering the same thing. His knee deliberately nudged her leg, and it took all her strength not to pull hers away.

Their meals arrived and she unthinkingly passed half her eggs to Hotch, and half her toast to Garcia, before eating.

She couldn't remember anything that was said later, but she remembered exactly how he smelled. Warm, enticing, and so damned different than what she'd ever expected.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Detective Allen had been right, Emily thought for the twelfth time since Hotch had had her drive JJ and Garcia back to the station to continue working on victimology.

She knew he was giving her some space. She was thankful for that. What she wasn't thankful for was lecherous assholes who had apparently waited until the male half of the FBI team was gone to pounce on the female half.

Even when Garcia had threatened to fry one guy's home computer they hadn't backed away. Even when JJ had vomited on one idiot's shoes they didn't back down.

Even when Emily's knee got dangerously close to creating a new soprano they didn't back off.

Women in law enforcement—was their reasoning—meant the BAU girls were fair game.

So, needless to say, when Hotch, Morgan, and Reid returned with Detectives Allen and Kinsey less than a minute later, it was more than apparent that something was going on besides victimology.

JJ's cheeks were red. And it wasn't from the heat, was Hotch's first thought upon entering the precinct. Garcia stood frozen, her eyes widened comically behind her polka dot framed glasses.

But it was the vicious red marks on Emily's arm that immediately drew Hotch—and Morgan's—gaze.

"Girl, what happened to your arm?" Morgan demanded, one hand moving to grasp her arm just under the offending marks. He'd seen enough grab marks to recognize them. Five crescents were also dug into the soft skin. Who the hell would have grabbed her that hard in the midst of a police station?

Hotch moved closer to her other side, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder, pulling her slightly in his direction. Morgan saw the look in his eyes and stepped back. He decided quickly that it was best to let Hotch handle this.

Whatever this was.

"What happened?" Hotch asked, flatly, one thumb running over the marks soothingly.

"A little misunderstanding." Emily said, trying hard not to let him see how she was shaking inside.

"About what?" His voice was a low growl, angry, even through its coldness. "Who, Emily?"

The threat behind it snapped Garcia's head in his direction, and had Detectives Allen and Kinsey stepping toward Emily almost protectively. But the threat wasn't directed at her. JJ, Reid, and Morgan just watched, never having seen Hotch quite that angry so quickly. Everyone was tense, watching the little drama between the two most contained members of the team.

The two who never let their emotions show for the whole world to see. Until today.

"About what we wanted to do with our free time while here in California." Emily said, a naturally placating quality having entered her voice once she realized how angry Hotch really was. "Don't worry, we took care of it."

"What happened? Where's Palmers?" Hotch asked, his voice holding a deadly tone.

"He's, uh, probably cleaning the vomit off his boots." Garcia said, almost stuttering. "He kind of spun JJ around too quick."

"Why'd he have his hands on you, anyway?" Morgan asked.

"He simply turned her to face him and she showed him her appreciation." Emily said, "It was nothing serious, just a bit of morning—all day—sickness, that's all. Reid, why don't you take JJ outside where she can get some fresh air?"

The younger doctor was grateful for something to do, some way to escape the strange tableau of the BAU team standing surrounded by the entire precinct, unmoving. He placed a hand on JJ's back and guided her out of the crowd and into the clean air.

"Garcia!" Hotch suddenly barked, and everyone in the room started. This was one _dangerous _man, coldly so. "I want to know exactly what happened."

"Give me two minutes, sir, and I can bring up the security feed of every little detail. You can see for yourself."

"Do it."

APOCALYPSE FIVE

Garcia was so tuned in to the undercurrents flowing around the small station that her fingers stumbled on the keys. It actually took he four minutes to hack into the rural station's security system. She found the segment immediately preceding the altercation and brought it up on the screen for Hotch and Morgan, as well as detectives Kinsey and Allen, to see.

The camera showed JJ approaching the old style water fountain with her ever present sports bottle, and filling it with water. An officer that Hotch didn't recognize approached the pretty blonde from behind. He asked her a question and she shook her head and moved to walk away.

He blocked her path, keeping her trapped between him and the back wall of the room. They watched as she tried to go around, but the officer on screen moved to block her path again.

This went on for several moments until JJ tried to simply barrel through the man. He grabbed her and laughed. Several of the officers at nearby desks laughed, too. JJ's hand went to her waist, where she'd have had her holster, if she still carried. She didn't, but it was a clear indication of the threat she perceived—at least to Hotch and Morgan.

Garcia entered the screen, obviously intent on the nearby restroom. She stopped short, seeing her friend. All her dormant protective instincts flared, and she stepped between JJ and the offending officer. He'd laughed when she threatened him. He nudged the older blonde aside and crowded the younger woman.

It was apparent he thought his actions were all in good fun.

Emily came out of the back room to check on her friends' progress and immediately sized up the situation.

She'd done what she always did when it came to the people she cared about. She stepped between the young officer and her friends.

Hotch watched as, on the screen, Chief Palmers stepped into the middle of the altercation. Instead of ordering his men back to work, he laughed, looking at first JJ, then Garcia, before turning to run his eyes over Emily suggestively. He said something.

Hotch watched as her spine stiffened, and she turned into the Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss he'd seen terrify a suspect in an interrogation.

Chief Palmers didn't back down. He'd stepped closer.

Emily turned and said something over her shoulder, obviously to JJ and Garcia. The two blondes started around Emily, JJ turning to say something at the last minute to the older woman.

Chief Palmers must have taken exception to having her back to him because he grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him rapidly.

Too rapidly. The team watched as the JJ on camera bent over double and emptied the contents of her stomach. It landed on Chief Palmers shoe. He jerked forward, headed straight for JJ, who was still bent over.

Emily moved, shoving her way between the police chief and her vulnerable colleague. She stared Chief Palmers down, while Garcia moved, quickly leading JJ off to the rest room.

Emily and Chief Palmers exchanged words, the woman not backing down an inch. Chief Palmers moved suddenly, his left hand jerking up to wrap around the smooth skin of her right arm. He jerked her close, and Hotch watched as she subconsciously arched her back, trying to get away from him.

The man growled something into her face, leaned in ever closer until there was less than an inch between their bodies, and Hotch watched the blur that was her knee as it made contact with his inner thigh. Emily said something else, and he released her as suddenly as he'd grabbed her, so suddenly she would have fallen had she not caught herself on a desk. Emily looked at him contemptuously, before stalking off after JJ and Garcia.

Two minutes later the three women exited the restroom. JJ and Garcia stopped at the water fountain and refilled JJ's bottle, while Emily stood guard.

Hotch could see all the officers in the bullpen staring at his agents, some hostile, some not. Emily was obviously on her guard. Someone called something and she turned in that direction, anger flashing on her face. JJ's face went immediately stunned, then embarrassed. Garcia actually moved to covered her eyes, then froze, looking to the far left of the room.

Hotch saw himself, Morgan, Reid, and the two case detectives enter the field of view. Saw Morgan reach Emily first, saw Hotch pull her toward him.

Saw the way her body unconsciously relaxed, leaned closer to him, then tensed again as he'd spoken. Saw the way every occupant of the room was focused on their little drama.

Then the screen went blank.

Hotch looked at the blank screen and back to his team, actually at a loss for words. What he wanted to say wasn't the least bit appropriate. What he wanted to do wasn't the least bit legal, was entirely primal, an entirely primitive response to watching Emily being threatened.

He would have to regain control of himself, especially if he wanted to successfully lead this team. He couldn't let his feelings for her interfere with his job. The _case_ had to come first. Then he'd deal with whatever was developing between him and Emily.

"Garcia, I want you to get JJ and head back to the hotel. Send Reid in to me. You'll work from there for the rest of the day. See to it that JJ rests. Morgan, you, Reid, Prentiss, and I will be having a sit down with Chief Palmers. Detectives Kinsey, Allen, in an hour I want you to have all of second and third shift officers here. We'll be giving the preliminary profiles."

"Yes, sir." Allen said, actually shocked at what he'd seen.

"And Detective, after this case is finished we'll be talking to the mayor and the city council about Chief Palmers' actions. Be prepared for some fallout." Hotch added. He moved to stand behind Emily, one hand still wrapped around her arm. His hand rose slightly, moved to gently sooth the red marks.

"I understand." From the expression on his face, Detective Allen fully agreed with Hotch's decision.

It was at least twenty minutes before the man in question returned to the bullpen. Hotch, Reid, Morgan, and Emily were waiting for him. Emily stood firmly between Hotch and Morgan, not dependent on their protection, but on their support. She had a lot to say to that son of a bitch. If she got the chance.

Hotch was even angrier after he'd forced her to tell him what the last comment was that had elicited such a reaction from her, JJ, and Garcia. She'd told him a watered down version—how the officer—unnamed and unseen on the screen—had wanted to know which one of the team had fathered JJ's baby and when would it be Emily's turn. And if they'd obviously given it to their teammates why not give it to _him_? A few other remarks about dark eyed women being fiery in bed.

Emily refused to identify the officer who'd made the comment. Said she'd wait until Hotch had calmed down considerably before they addressed the issue. It wasn't important, she'd told him, but solving twelve murders was.

He'd backed down reluctantly, feeling Morgan's intense gaze on his face. The other man was watching and cataloging the exchanges between the two agents and was extremely surprised at how _intensely _the relationship was developing.

He never would have thought Hotch and Emily would change toward each other so quickly. It had been less than a damned month since he'd noticed Hotch watching the younger woman. A month and they were acting more in tuned with each other than any other couple he'd ever seen. More in tuned then Hotch had ever been with High and Mighty Hayley Hotchner.

Maybe only another profiler could fully understand a man like Hotch?

Chief Palmers snarled wordlessly at the group of Feds arranged around his door. "What do you want?"

"Chief Palmers, I'd like you to step into your office, please." Hotch began coldly. "We've something to discuss with you before we give the profiles."

"I'm not so sure I want to discuss anything with you."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. Since you refuse to have this discussion in private, we will have it right here. I have undeniable proof that you both verbally and physically assaulted two of my agents, and allowed the same to happen to a third. I can—and will—bring this before a judge—a _federal _judge, as these are federal agents. Add in that you are impeding the course of my investigation, and it will make a reelection excruciatingly difficult." Hotch told him, his voice never losing that terrible chill.

"I never did a damned thing to your _agents. _How dare you come into my stationhouse and threaten me?" The man's face turned a livid color of purple as he stepped forward. "I didn't ask you here, didn't need your help! And if you'd learn to control your team better, nothing would have happened. I didn't _assault_ anybody."

"Show him your arm, Emily." Hotch whipped out, moving slightly to allow her room to move forward. Once again, every eye was on them as the drama unfolded. The station house was getting much more crowded, the second and third shifts arriving, including a good half dozen female officers. They all stood around watching the Feds verbally flatten their boss.

The dark haired woman held out her arm and the newly forming bruises were visible. They were obviously finger marks, and the new arrivals wondered just what had happened to cause such tension.

It wasn't long until the story was circulated through the troops gathered. Most of second and third shift were not-so-secretly thrilled at seeing Nasty old Palmers getting an official dressing down. And the guy giving the talking was a frighteningly cold piece of work.

"She got in my way!" Palmers snarled.

"She protected another agent, a woman who is experiencing severe morning sickness due to her pregnancy. How much of a threat was Special Agent Jareau to you? I've seen the tape, Scott." Hotch said, his voice heating rapidly as he moved in verbally for the kill. "Unarmed, pregnant, sick, weighing 110 pounds—in the middle of the bullpen? You went for her with intent to do her physical harm! Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss did what she was trained to do—protected her subordinates, her teammates. You committed a federal crime, Palmers. Tell me right now why I shouldn't arrest you and haul your ass in front of a judge?"

"Nothing was said that they should have found objectionable. If they can't take working in this field, maybe they should get out of it. _She _assaulted_ me_."

"They're the best at what they do." Hotch said, "And this is my team. Mine. You do not ever threaten _any_ member of my team again. In any shape or form. Do you understand me?"

Palmers' breath was heavy, his chest heaving. He stared at Hotch then looked at Emily, standing just behind her supervisor, dark eyes trained on Palmers. He stepped forward, got right in Hotch's face, shoved him, and growled. "Keep your little dark-eyed whore out of my precinct, you cold bastard. Or I'll show you—and her—threats like you've never seen before! I guarantee she'll like it better than anything you'll ever give her—a fiery little bitch like that! I bet she's hotter than dynamite in the sack!"

Reid's eyes widened, and he jumped instinctively out of Hotch's way. He'd seen that look in Hotch's eyes before, when they'd been trapped in a room with a serial killer for thirteen minutes. A serial killer intent on killing them to prolong his own life. But this—this was so much worse. He couldn't believe that idiot sheriff had dared to call Emily that, to her face, and her supervisor's, to say what he'd said.

"Hotch!" Emily yelled, grabbing for his arm, moving closer.

Morgan moved, too. Moved to pull the son of a bitch Palmers out of the way before Hotch could retaliate. He turned back in time to help Emily stop Hotch from charging at the man. "Hotch, man. We got a case to solve. Now's not the time. We'll deal with him once we're done. I'll haul his ass in myself. Or you can do it. Hell, well let Emily and JJ cuff him, just for shits and giggles."

"You'll not doing anything in my precinct." Palmers yelled, hearing Derek's words. "Not a one of you!"

"The instant he touched Emily, JJ, and when he shoved you, Hotch, it moved into a federal jurisdiction." Reid said quickly, as every eye in the station swung his way. "Technically, we don't need his permission to do a damned thing. I vote we lock him in the holding cell. We can hold him for seventy two hours on each count. Three counts of physical assault, one account of verbal on Agent Prentiss…so four charges. Surely, we'll be done with the case by then."

"Do it." Hotch ordered, looking at Kinsey and Allen. They'd moved to flank the FBI agents when the confrontation had started. Allen had helped Morgan restrain Hotchner, long enough for the SSA team leader to regain control of one of the most coldly phenomenal tempers he'd ever seen.

And he'd thought Aaron Hotchner was a cold, hard ass.

The man had been fine; angry but in control, until the moment Palmers had called SSA Prentiss a 'dark-eyed bitch-whore.' Hotchner had snapped. Cold and fire mingling in his eyes, a dark rage that Allen had a hard time understanding.

Allen and Kinsey moved to snap the cuffs on Palmers, Kinsey enjoying it much more than Allen—which was saying something. She leaned over her Chief and spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as she clicked the cuffs. "Is this tight enough for you, Scottie? What was it you threatened to do to me with my own cuffs last month? Hmm? Well, who's the tied up little whore, now?"

As her words sunk in a wild cheer ran through the second and third shifts, proving just how despised the man really was.

Another officer stepped forward, a pretty black woman with striking eyes, who relieved him of his gun belt and badge. His weapon was still in his office. "Hey Scottie, boy, how does it feel to be on your knees in front of us bitches, now?"

Five more women—the entire female portion of the force—moved to the forefront, calling various taunts—all with the ring of sexual threats or comments they'd most likely heard from the man in the past—and escorted him down to the holding tank. Not a single male officer moved to interfere. Most didn't want to, and none dared.

Scott Palmers had apparently been a bit more of a bastard than the BAU had realized. Than Allen or the rest of his colleagues on the night shifts had realized.

"Wow." Was the first words out of Emily's mouth. "I really didn't see that coming."

"Me, either." Reid admitted.

Hotch turned toward his team, saw Morgan's hand resting reassuringly on Emily's back, saw Reid rubbing her shoulder, awkwardly. Saw Emily looking toward him warily. Watched her take a few steps toward him, stopping just short of touching him. Watched as she turned her head, checking to see who was watching, and her dark ponytail swung with her movements. "You, ok?"

"Fine. You?" He'd shut down again, becoming the calm and collected Aaron Hotchner he always was. The way he'd always been.

But as she looked closer, she saw the tiniest light of remorse, the tiniest bit of fear. Her breath caught in her throat as she wrapped one hand around his, feeling the recently healed scar from where he'd pulled Rossi from the fire. She wanted to reassure him, to show him that he wasn't alone.

What on earth could Aaron Hotchner possibly be afraid of?

Hotch looked down at her. She was tall, and with her boots she was only half a head shorter than him, putting them on an equal viewing level. Her eyes were vulnerable, big and dark in her pale face. He could tell she was shaky, confused, by all that had occurred in only the last half hour. Could tell that she was worried. By him, about him.

He hated that he'd caused it. Hated that she—and the team—had seen him lose control that way.

Hotch prided himself on his sense of control. On his ability to contain his temper. He'd not wanted to lay in to someone that badly since he'd broken his father's nose for hitting Sean. He'd been fourteen, and his father was dead the next year.

Hotch never lost control, not like that. But when Palmers had insulted her, had shoved him, he'd had one thought. And it wasn't a good one. It wasn't an acceptable thought. Not for the leader of the BAU.

He had to be above reproach at all times. Had to be an exemplary leader above all else. He was willing to break that with Emily. But he'd never wanted her to see him without his unbreakable control.

Aaron Hotchner's biggest fear wasn't that he couldn't save everybody—like Stan Howard had accused—it was that he'd lose his tight reign on his control.

And become as dark as one of the monsters he chased.

Hayley had never came close to ever understanding that. The few times he'd gotten just a little out of hand, she'd freaked. She could never handle the darkness inside him. And now Hotch feared that Emily had seen that darkness. And would run for the hills.

"Hotch—Aaron—it's ok." She whispered, giving him a hug, regardless of who was watching. "It's ok. I understand it. I do."

APOCALYPSE SIX

Hotch smelled strawberries again, as he returned her embrace, briefly. He kissed the top of her head, unthinkingly. Her dark hair was pulled up, sleek, straight, and soft, out of her way. He momentarily missed the feel of it brushing his cheek like it had when he'd slept.

"Are you ok?" He whispered against her ear, before backing up a step.

"Of course, but JJ and Garcia were a little shaken up." Emily admitted. Today's spectacle wasn't something she'd expected, but it wasn't something she hadn't seen before either. Law Enforcement could be a hard world for women. "But I'm glad you all got here when you did. We, uh, should probably get back to work."

"Yes. As soon as Detective Kinsey returns from booking, we'll give the profiles." Hotch said, looking at Morgan and Allen and nodding, signaling it was time for the internal drama to end and the professional catching of some killers to begin.

Ten minutes later Kinsey and the rest of the entire police force arrived for the profile briefing. Emily stood in the middle of the bullpen, authorative, and professional, and began with the first killer. No one truly missed the horrible bruises already forming on her arm, the only evidence of her earlier altercation. Emily was a professional through and through, and most of the officers had to admire that. "The first killer is most likely a white male, mid twenties to early thirties. No older. Most likely a social isolationist. He'll have very little social contacts. Might work from home, as a freelancer or a computer programmer. He's not comfortable with large groups of people, but is extremely familiar with reptiles and their care. He will have few relationships, but if he has any close friends, they will be dominant and he will be easily led."

Morgan took over, "The second UNSUB—and there are definitely two—is a disorganized killer. His victims were blitzed, and killed within one hundred feet of where he found them. He took great risks, he could easily have been caught, stopped, if someone had walked by. He left no signs of even an attempt to hide his crime. This man is in his thirties, white, physically fit, comfortable outdoors. He might even have military training. He certainly has a general knowledge of anatomy—his victims' wounds were precise, and designed to pierce each organ individually—and they did, so he's smart. At this time, we're not sure the killings of Shawna Dravis, Melina Jenkins, and Emma Reinhard are related to the killings at Libstein or Maxwell, Maxwell, and Teague."

"That's it?" One cocky first shifter demanded, in a voice Emily recognized all too well. It was the guy who'd made that last vile comment to her about what she could do to him. "I thought you all were magic, superheroes, who could tell us what underwear the guy buys."

"We are narrowing down a list of suspects as we speak." Hotch said, in a cold tone that surprised nobody. "Profiling is not an exact science, we use every piece of information we are given to identify the UNSUBs. Rarely are we wrong. Any more questions?"

"So if they don't know each other—why? Why kill first nine people and then three more?" A young woman asked, from near the back of the room.

"At this time, we're not clear on the motives for the poisonings. We do know, however, that the UNSUB is not a classic serial killer, instead is a mass murderer. The motive for the second UNSUB appears to be rage." Hotch answered. "As we learn more, we'll pass it on to you."

Reid had one thing to add, "In the case of the poisonings—most poisonings are of two kinds. Either you have the anonymous killer who thinks he's righting a wrong by wiping out a company whose policies they don't agree with, or you have someone who will benefit financially from the deaths. This type of poisoner is usually a female. We don't think this is the case here, so you'll be looking for someone who might have a grudge against the investment firm and the law firm. That's all, and thanks."

Reid was never truly comfortable having everyone's eyes on him. Detective Max Kinsey smiled at him, getting a feel for the genius's personality at last. He'd not had much to say to her, and she sensed he was nervous. He was kind of cute, in a tall, geeky way.

Hotch pulled Emily and Morgan aside, "Reid's on to something. Someone had to have chosen those two firms for a specific reason. Morgan, get a hold of Garcia and have her cross reference clients from both companies. We should have some overlap. Then we'll split the list. Morgan, you and I will take half with Detective Allen. Emily, you, Reid, and Detective Kinsey will take the other."

"Gotcha." Morgan said, flipping open his cell and hitting number two on speed dial. "Hey, you sexy thing! I have a request that only you can fulfill!"

As Morgan talked, Hotch stood quietly, one hand resting casually on the small of Emily's back.

She realized quickly he wasn't even aware of the gesture, and that disconcerted her. Had things changed that quickly between them? So quickly he felt free to touch her whenever he wanted? In front of other law enforcement personnel? In front of the team?

How did she feel about that?

She was glad he was sending her out with Reid instead of him—or Morgan. She knew Reid would respect her privacy and not question her about her and Hotch. If the boy had even noticed what was going on between his supervisor and her. Give her room to process everything that had happened on this case.

Garcia came through quickly, sending everyone's handhelds a list containing six names.

Reid and Emily took three names, Hotch and Morgan the other three. Detectives Allen and Kinsey were relegated to chauffeuring, but they didn't seem to mind.

Then they were off.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Reid sat in the back seat of Det. Kinsey's car, legs folded awkwardly, listening to the women as they spoke.

Emily's voice was soft as she asked, "You'd had trouble with Palmers before, right?"

"Just probably more of the same shit he'd pulled with your team. Comments, brushes, leers. Nothing I'd not experienced in the academy."

"Same shit, different day." Emily said on a sigh, and Spencer's ears perked up. He rarely heard Emily that down about anything. "But Palmers shouldn't be a problem any more."

"That made this one of the most awesome days of my career." Max admitted. "We, uh, took him to holding, and well—stripped him of his uniform."

Emily chuckled lowly, mind picturing how Palmers had endured that indignity. "Wonderful."

"It was satisfying to say the least. Although I must admit, I really would have liked seeing your Hotchner rip into him. That is one terrifyingly dangerous man."

"Hotch?" Emily protested. "Hotch prides himself on maintaining absolute control. He'd not have hit Palmers."

"Yes he would have." Reid added. "If Morgan hadn't stopped him. I've worked for Hotch for six years, Emily, in all sorts of situations, and I've never seen him lose control like that. Even when fighting with a suspect, he's always been deliberate and methodical about it."

"Oh." Emily said, though she knew Reid was right, knew it all along. "It's over now."

"So is Hotchner not that protective of you on a regular basis? He seems like the type who would be." Kinsey said.

"Emily doesn't need protecting." Reid said, eyes meeting Kinsey's in the rearview. "Hotch knows that."

"Really, he sure looked all hot and protective today." Kinsey's tone implied complete skepticism at Reid's insistence. Agent Hotchner had been ready to tear Palmers apart—and Kinsey had an inkling why. "All that coldly leashed fury."

Sometimes it was easier for an outsider to understand a group's dynamics than they thought.

"Hotch is protective of JJ and Penelope." Emily said. "Especially now, with JJ being pregnant. That's all it was."

"JJ wasn't the one Palmers insulted." Kinsey pointed out, "The one whom it was implied was sleeping with Hotchner."

"It's the same concept. Hotch will do anything to preserve the structure of his team." Emily said. "Nothing more. And it was Palmers shoving him that triggered it. Hotch has certainly heard worse from the assholes we deal with every day."

"He, uh, almost gambled JJ away in a poker game, once." Reid said, "Before you joined the team, Emily. Nearly lost her to a serial killer."

"Your boss gambled one of your teammates to a serial killer?" Kinsey asked.

"Um. Yeah, but only after letting JJ deal the cards." Reid explained.

Emily had to laugh at that. "JJ knows how to stack the deck, very skillfully."

"So there was no real danger." Reid said. "Of course, they were in a prison at the time, so nothing would have happened. JJ said Hotch never even blinked. And he had a sniper convinced he was on his side, once."

"I heard about that. Heard he kicked you?" Emily asked.

"Kicked me several times. Until I could reach his ankle holster and take the shot. The whole time he talked in the same cold Hotch voice. I've never really heard him like he was today." Reid said. "I wonder why?"

"Is it because you two, are, you know…" Kinsey looked at Emily, while Reid sat in the backseat confused.

"We're not…you know…" Emily said firmly.

"Really?" Kinsey said. "I never would have guessed it."

"Really. We're here." Emily said as she read the address on the mailbox. "Let's move."

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch and Morgan got nothing. The three families they talked to were genuinely puzzled by their presence, no indication that they'd had anything to do with the killings.

"Let's head back to the hotel for a break. Check in with Garcia and JJ." Hotch decided, "Wait for Reid and Emily. Then find dinner."

Garcia and JJ were hard at work searching financial records and all sorts of databases when they entered. They barely looked up, just long enough to nod.

"How did it go? After we left?" JJ asked.

"Palmers is in jail for assault." Morgan started. Hotch interrupted, with an abrupt, _I'm going for a walk_.

"Wow." Garcia said, as Hotch slammed the door behind him. "What the hell did we miss?"

"Palmers said some pretty raw shit—about Emily. Shoved Hotch, told him to keep Emily out of the precinct or he'd show her a good time—that she'd like better than what she was getting from a cold bastard like Hotch. Something like that."

"And now Palmers is in jail?" JJ asked, her mind running over what Derek had just said. "What charges?"

"Three counts federal physical assault, on count verbal. Called Emily Hotch's 'little dark-eyed whore."

"Wow." Was all JJ could say.

"I thought Hotch was going to kill him. It took both Allen and me to hold him back. He was furious. I've never seen him that way." Morgan admitted.

"Wow."

"Yeah. I don't think he's calmed down, yet." Morgan said, thinking of how quiet his boss had been all afternoon.

"Wow."

"What did Emily do?" Garcia asked.

"Walked right up to Hotch and hugged him—told him she understood. What, I'm not sure."

"Wow."

"What did he do?" Garcia moved closer.

"Hugged her back." Derek paused, dramatically, before grinning wickedly. "Kissed her. I'm not even sure either one of them are aware he did it."

"Wow."

"Double wow." Garcia added.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Emily was getting more and more amused by the second. Detective Kinsey was obviously charmed by boy geniuses. Boy genius didn't catch on.

When the detective suggested that she and Spencer check out a small pizza parlor on the edge of town later that evening, he just looked at her, puzzled. Emily lost it, a full laugh escaping for the first time all day.

Dr. Reid just looked at her, like she'd completely went around the bend. "Emily?"

"Dr. Reid would love to go for pizza with you this evening, detective." Emily said, around her giggles. At her words, Reid's eyes widened comically, and his head swung, looking back and forth between the two women. Once the younger woman's intentional meaning sunk in, Reid's mouth formed an O of surprise, and he actually blushed.

Emily opened the front passenger door before turning and yanking open Reid's. She grabbed her young colleague and pulled him from the vehicle. He didn't resist. Emily leaned back down to look at the other woman. "Pick him up at seven. I'll make sure he's ready."

"Will do. Bye!" Kinsey waved once before driving away. Reid just stood staring after her vehicle. Emily laughed even harder, rushing into the hotel. Knowing he'd eventually catch up. He did, just outside the hotel room door. Emily hurriedly turned the key and pushed the door open. He was two steps behind her.

Hotch was stretched out on his bed, minus jacket and tie, reading files and making notes, when he heard Emily's laughter and the door opening.

"Emily!" Spencer wailed, drawing everyone else's attention. "How could you do that?"

"Relax, Spencer. You'll be fine." Emily's fist was at her mouth, as she tried valiantly to stop her laughter. She sank down on to the pullout beside Hotch's feet. "A little pizza and some conversation about something other than serial killers. How can it hurt?"

"But, but, but."

"Kid, what's goin on?" Morgan demanded from his position beside Garcia at the desk.

"I…Kinsey…Emily…did…"

"Spencer has a date." Emily said, as seriously as she could.

"That _you_ agreed to!"

"Spencer, the poor girl tried for two hours to get you to answer her."

"What? When?"

"Just go take a shower, get ready. You only have ninety minutes." She patted him on the hand. She was in control of herself now, even if her lips twitched ever so slightly. "You don't want to be late. She's picking you up at seven."

The man spun and around and grabbed his ready bag, stalking into the bathroom.

JJ watched the door slam shut before turning to her friend. "What on earth happened out there today?"

"Det. Kinsey kept asking him to dinner, and he never caught on. So I'd had enough, and told her he'd be glad to go."

"No!" Garcia said, coming over to sit behind Emily. Emily turned, bringing her feet up under her, and casually resting her elbow on Hotch's knee. "You didn't!"

"I did. Then I pulled Spencer from the car and told her to pick him up at seven. Should have seen his face when he finally caught on." She did a surprised Spencer impression and JJ and Garcia started giggling. "She's taking him to a pizza parlor across town."

"That's so cute." JJ said. "Good for her—and good for Spencer."

"Poor kid's a nervous wreck." Garcia said, then turned. "Morgan, maybe you'd better go talk to him. Make sure he's not too terrified."

"He's gonna be nervous. We're all nervous when faced with women like you three—and Det. Kinsey." Morgan protested. "Why me?"

"Because you're the big brother type." Garcia explained patiently. "Who else is he going to ask about dating but you and Hotch?"

"It's been more than fifteen years since I've been on a date, Pen." Hotch said from slightly behind Emily. "I'm probably not the best to ask."

Emily didn't know, but she thought the man was doing alright. His hand rested once again on her back—over her shirt this time, and not under—warm and enticing, and she wondered if anyone else had noticed. "Talk to him, Derek. She really likes him."

"Too bad nothing will come of it." Garcia sighed. "Her being clear out here in California."

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Emily started. "She's moving to DC next month. Has an elderly aunt who needs more care. She's volunteered."

"Does Spencer know this?" JJ asked.

"I don't think so."

"Wow."

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Spencer was ready for his date, and relatively calm about it, at a quarter till seven. He'd yet to stop glaring at Emily. She stood, straightened his tie, and patted his hair. "You'll be ok, sweetie."

"Emily. I _owe_ you big for this. Don't forget it." He nearly squeaked, growling menacingly.

Emily just laughed. "Have fun. Call home if you're going to be late."

As soon as he left, JJ, Garcia, and Emily burst in to roaring laughter.

It took several minutes for Hotch and Morgan to get them calmed down. By the time they were finished the men were smiling as well. The earlier tension was completely gone, and they settled in, trying to decide what they would do for the rest of the evening.

"I want pizza." JJ said, snickering.

"Wouldn't that freak Reid out?" Garcia joked.

"Seriously. Back to the diner?" Emily said. "I'm starved."

"Mmm. Ice cream." JJ said, in anticipation.

"The diner it is." Hotch said, grabbing the keys off the dresser and tossing one set to Morgan. "Let's go."

They settled into the same round booth, in nearly the same seating. This time, Emily didn't have to press up against Hotch to make enough available room for everyone else. Without Reid there was plenty of space. But she could still feel his warmth, smell his slightly woodsy aftershave. His hand dropped beneath the edge of the table and ran unhurriedly down her thigh. She tried not to shiver as she reached down and grabbed the offending hand, firmly. Enough of that.

He turned his palm up and quickly laced his fingers with hers, holding her palm to palm.

It felt strange. It felt right. It felt…ok. No one else was even aware of it, didn't seem to notice Hotch was suddenly eating with his left hand. That both his and Emily's hands weren't visible.

Or so they thought. Morgan—the only other profiler present—had caught on quick, the instant he'd seen Emily shiver. He smirked, determine to tease her about it later, before enjoying the rest of his chocolate chip ice cream.

Would they ever just figure things out?

After dinner, Morgan, Garcia and JJ stood, ready to head back to the hotel. Hotch kept a tight hold on Emily's hand, keeping her from sliding out of the booth after JJ. "Go on, Morgan. We'll be along shortly."

Emily started, and looked at him warily, as JJ and Garcia exchanged glances. Morgan just nodded and grabbed the dinner ticket. "I'll take care of this, and we'll catch you guys later."

Emily said nothing as they left, her thoughts and her tongue twisted in knots. "Hotch?"

"I thought you might want to talk." Hotch said softly, scooting closer to her.

"I don't know what to say." Emily admitted. "This is completely out of my experience, Hotch."

"Mine, too." He said, softly. "I never expected this to happen. These feelings to exist."

"Are you sure it's not just proximity?" Emily asked. "You've only been divorced for a few months. Have you even seen another woman?"

"Besides you? I've been separated for almost a year, Emily. I've not even thought about another woman in that time. Until South Dakota. You're all I've thought about since that night."

"Oh." This was more than Emily had ever expected, and when it came right down to it, she was never truly comfortable in the relationship world. Never would she have expected this. "I don't know what I think, Hotch. I don't know what I am thinking. I don't know what _to _think. How this will all fit—if it fits. Can you understand that?"

"Yes." His hand trailed up her inner wrist, sending shivers over her skin. "I've given this a lot of thought, Emily, and I can understand if you need to, too."

"I think I do. I've worked hard to earn my spot on this team—regardless of Strauss's original plan—and I don't want to jeopardize it. Not without being absolutely sure."

"I've thought about it, too." Hotch admitted. "I've not just jumped into this. I really haven't. But I can understand if you need some time."

"I do." Emily said. "I just don't understand this, Hotch. I just don't. JJ, and Garcia, even Morgan—they've all just said to run with it. But I don't think I've ever just ran with anything in my life. I'm not even sure where the race starts—or ends."


	12. Chapter 13

APOCALYPSE SEVEN

Emily made damn sure to be in the bed with JJ and Garcia before Hotch finished his shower. She was not experiencing a repeat of the night before. No matter how much she wanted to.

She knew the two blondes were dying of curiosity, but she didn't have time to tell them what had occurred.

Did Hotch expect she'd just be able to jump into a flaming hot affair with him because he suddenly decided he wanted her?

She didn't think so, although she had to admit seeing him so determined was slightly erotic. She'd seen him intense before, but never had his sights been set on _her. _

Had never been in that kind of relationship. Did she want that?

Could she handle a relationship with a supervisor? Could she handle a relationship with a man like Aaron Hotchner? In front of the team, at least? What did she really know about him?

She knew he was the most controlled person she'd ever met, that he prided himself on that control. Knew that he had depths to him, that few—if any—were ever allowed to see. Knew that he'd willingly die for any member of the team, that he'd protect his family with every breath he had.

Knew that while he was married to Hayley he'd valued her more than anything. Had a sneaking suspicion that Hayley had never bothered to look beneath his surface to the wounded man lurking inside. Hotchner held himself to impossibly high standards, both personally and professionally.

And he'd decided she fit within those standards.

Now she had to decide how she felt about that.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Hotch was the only one awake when Spencer unlocked the door. The boy was barefoot, carrying sand-saturated shoes and dark socks. "Reid?"

Spencer started, nearly dropped his shoes. "Hotch, you awake?"

"Yeah. How was your evening?"

"Ok. We, uh, had pizza. Then went for a walk." the boy didn't look up.

"On the beach? Sounds nice." Hotch felt like a father with a teenaged son breaking curfew to be with a girl.

"Yes."

"Good."

"What did you all do?"

"The girls watched a movie. Derek was on the computer, I read." Hotch's lips twitched at how nervous the younger man was.

"Good, good. We'll, I, uh, I'm going to take a quick shower." Spencer was so horribly awkward Hotch's lips twitched. He knew just looking at his subordinate that the younger man had gotten lucky—or very close to it.

Before Hotch could reply, Spencer was closing the bathroom door. Hotch read some more before sudden noises filled his ears. He knew almost immediately what it was. Someone was having a nightmare—and he knew instinctively who it was. Emily tossed on her pillow, and he could see her leg move as she jerked toward Garcia. The blonde woman would feel it in the morning.

The bathroom door opened and Spencer came to stand beside Hotch. "She had one last night, too, didn't she?"

"She's had them every night since Rossi. JJ said she can't seem to shake them. And that they're getting worse."Derek said from his bed. He was a light sleeper, and every sound jerked him out of sleep. "Garcia's going to be bruised as hell in the morning."

"We should move her to Hotch's couch." Spencer said, resolutely. "He's got the room."

"She'd probably object." Hotch admitted. He knew he'd probably over stepped, just a little with her.

"Still," Morgan said, almost slyly. "There's room over there—and I doubt La Montaigne or Lynch would appreciate JJ or Garcia coed bunking. Process of elimination, man. Of course, you could bunk with Lover Boy here—and _I'll_ bunk with Emily."

Hotch shot him a look that Morgan had no trouble interpreting.

Morgan laughed, "Thought you'd say that."

Hotch stared down at the woman and nodded. He pulled the blankets back, exposing Emily. Tonight she wore short gym shorts, and that red tank again. It had ridden up, showing a creamy expanse of white skin.

_Sometimes_, Hotch thought, as he slipped one arm beneath her long legs and the other under her shoulders, _this_ _job_ _was_ _absolutely_ _wonderful_.

Derek and Spencer moved out of his way, as he hoisted her to his chest. She sighed, and tucked her face into the side of his neck.

He carried her the half dozen feet to his pullout, and Morgan quickly pulled back the blankets. He lowered her, and she immediately flipped onto her stomach, one hand shooting out and fisting around Hotch's pillow. He'd noticed she slept like that more than any other position. It translated into her hand wrapping around his opposite shoulder, with her curled up against him. He didn't mind in the least, and he knew that soon it would be _him _she was holding tightly to her, instead of that pillow.

Derek snatched the third pillow from the girls' bed and handed it to Hotch, as the other man slid under the blankets next to Emily.

Soon they were down for the night, and Hotch was wrapped around Emily again, holding both their nightmares at bay.

PRENTTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Emily woke the next morning in a totally different bed then the one she'd made a point of falling asleep in.

Disconcerting, but she immediately recognized the arms wrapped around her. Her eyes flew open, checking to see if he was awake.

He'd awakened the minute she'd started stirring. He grinned, a boyish expression she'd only seen on rare occasions. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"How did I get here?"

"Morgan suggested we do Garcia a favor and save her from days of bruises. Spencer said it was an appropriate distribution of sleeping space." Hotch told her, "You should go back to sleep."

"So should you." Emily yawned, mind still foggy, not fully remembering that she'd decided she needed time before finding herself like this again. "Do you think Palmers is still in lock up?"

"Not likely. The charges probably won't stick. But we had to show what was acceptable."

"He shouldn't have shoved you. He had to know that."

"It wasn't shoving me, it was his blatant disregard for the members of my team. You. And what he said. That wasn't acceptable."

"It's nothing I've not heard before." Emily admitted. "Did you know Kinsey and the rest stripped him down completely before throwing him in holding?"

"Appropriate. I, uh, think Reid had a good time tonight."

"What time did he finally get back?" Her eyes drifted closed for a moment.

"Nearly two. Walk on the beach."

"Good for him. She's a good kid, and seems very accepting. He needs someone who will see him for himself. Even for just a little bit." Emily said, head pillowed on his chest. "He's too isolated."

"Aren't we all." Hotch said, ruefully.

"So I wonder if he's forgiven me?"

"I think that's safe bet." Hotch smiled, "He looked like a kid when he came in. Young, excited. It was good."

"I'm glad." She said, smothering another yawn. "We all need that, now and then."

"You should go back to sleep." He whispered, one hand stroking her arm like he'd fantasized about. Her skin was softer than the sheets they laid on and he unconsciously repeated the gesture. "I want to identify these bastards and get back to Washington."

"Me, too. I miss Kurt." Emily admitted. "I'm used to hearing him purr while I sleep. Funny, I've only had him for six weeks."

"Does it help? With the nightmares?" Hotch asked. He'd not known, she'd not shown him, that she struggled. Not in the entire time she'd been with the BAU. And he'd never looked closely enough to see it.

That was his fault. He'd never let himself get close enough to her to notice when she struggled. But three weeks ago, his world had changed. And one thing Aaron Hotchner didn't do was hesitate when he knew what his objective was.

Hadn't he joined the cast of Pirates of the Pendants to gain Hayley's attention so long ago? He'd been nothing more than a green kid back then—now, as an adult man, he knew exactly what he was playing at. And how to get what he wanted.

And this was one game he was determined to win, he thought, as she drifted back to sleep. He'd give her two weeks to reconcile to the idea—and then he'd move forward, no holds barred.

He'd get what he wanted—and what he wanted was the woman sleeping in his arms.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Emily and Spencer had one more name on their list that they'd been unable to locate the day before. Thomas Corison was a former employee of Libstein and Associates. He'd also been a client of Maxwell, Maxwell, and Teague, Attorneys-at-Law.

He'd lost his medical mal-practice suit, and his Keogh Retirement Account had suspiciously been emptied, three weeks before the murders.

Emily and Spencer—along with a relatively quiet Max Kinsey—really wanted to talk to Thomas Corison.

"This is the building." Max said, softly. Her eyes would glance off Spencer's face, and move away quickly. Emily wondered what had happened to make the normally confident young woman so nervous.

Spencer would look at her and his cheeks would turn red, and a small smile would touch his lips.

Emily was intrigued. She observed her younger colleague as they exited the vehicle in front of the three story commercial building Corison owned at the edge of town. It was not in the best of shape, its fire escape leading to the roof, old and bent. She couldn't interpret Spencer's behavior, but Max was definitely embarrassed.

Emily knocked on the door, hand resting on her badge, near her weapon. It never hurt to be prepared. A man answered the door, around the age of thirty. He was unkempt, slighter of build, but tall.

To Emily it was like looking at a dirty, less-educated version of Reid. "Are you Thomas Corison? I'm SSA Prentiss with the FBI. Can you step outside please? We have a few questions."

The man nodded, nothing aggressive in his manner. His hand rose to push the door open. Reid and Kinsey stepped back to give him room. Emily stayed where she was, taking control of the interview immediately.

Corison's eyes flashed, the only warning Emily had. The door was shoved quickly, nearly banging off her boots, as Corison jerked out the door. As he ran by, Emily moved, pursuing him almost immediately.

One thought ran through her head as she followed him up the fire escape, which groaned under both their weights. _She was glad she'd dressed down for the day—in fatigues and boots, if she'd been in heels it would have been an extremely sucky day. _

It took them two minutes to reach the roof, and Emily heard her radio crackle as Spencer called in the pursuit status to the rest of the town's force.

Emily was within four yards of Corison at all times. But he was always just that little bit out of her reach.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Hotch, Allen, and Morgan were arranged around Garcia's desk in the police bullpen. She'd found several hinky financial records that she'd brought to their attention, and they were processing the information.

"Detective Allen, sir?" A timid voice asked from behind them. Hotch and the other two men turned to see the city's only crime tech, clutching a sheaf of reports. "I believe I've found the method of delivery."

"Go on, Mark." Allen encouraged.

"I found nine coffee mugs, sir. Each had been re-glazed, re-enameled with a white enamel. In that enamel were traces of Mojave venom."

"White enamel?" Morgan asked, "What about the red substance found on the three stabbing victims bodies?"

"I was getting to that, sir. Red enamel, same manufacturer."

"Red enamel, and white enamel—that's it? All we've really got to go on?" JJ asked, as the loud crackle of a two dozen police radios bulleted around the room.

No one moved. Only the LEO's used that particular frequency. The BAU froze, recognizing the voice that came over the waves. "In pursuit of murder suspect! Corner of Nineteenth and Jackson. Pursuing across the roof tops! Repeat—SSA's Prentiss and Reid in pursuit!"

"Garcia! Find cameras in that area!" Hotch barked. "Morgan, you and Allen, let's move!"

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Spencer was less than twenty feet behind Prentiss, thirty behind the suspect. Kinsey had taken the back of the building, cutting Corison off if he made to go down the back escape.

Emily could see the man's underwear band, the bright red strip an unbelievable target. Funny--that that's what she focused on as she vaulted over the junk strewn over the rooftop. She'd shouted at him to stop, but of course he disregarded her orders, weaving in and out of stacks of packing supplies and pallets.

Emily was determined not to lose this idiot, and she put on a burst of speed that halved the distance separating them. Her foot came down on the wooden slat roof, the sounds of her footfalls echoing less than a beat behind Corison's. Matching the beats of her heart.

She could almost see the stitching on the tags of those bright red boxers as she reached forward, could almost hook one hand in the dirty denims the man wore around his narrow hips. Her foot raised as she prepared to make one more leap.

Her foot hit the wooden roof, and then the roof wasn't beneath her. Her hand gripped the barrel of her weapon as her heart stuttered once at the realization that _she—_and the suspect—were going _down_!

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Spencer was fifteen feet behind Emily, breathing heavily, hand gripping his weapon steadily and tightly—just like Hotch had taught him a few years ago.

He'd just cleared the last pile of old skid pallets and saw Emily reach for the UNSUB, the irony of the smaller woman making the take down instead of him, not lost on him. Morgan would rib him mercilessly, when this was over.

Then right before his eyes, the floor beneath Emily's feet was gone. Emily was gone. And so was Corison. Gone. Her voice rang out, a shriek of terror, echoed by the UNSUB. A shout that Spencer recognized as his own.

Spencer's hand shook as it went immediately to his radio. His voice excited and broken as he shouted into it. "Agent down! Officer Down! Roof collapsed, nineteenth and Jackson! Repeat, officer down!"

Seconds later, Kinsey's voice repeated Spencer's words and added, "Need medical assistance immediately! Corner of Nineteenth and Jackson! Officer down, possible internal injuries! Situation critical! Need assistance immediately!"

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Allen floored the gas pedal, the fear in the vehicle a tangible cloud. They all knew who the officer down most likely was. Emily's voice hadn't come over the radio.

And Hotch had sent her out with Spencer.

He sat, one hand wrapped around the door handle so tight his short nails left marks. It was the only outward sign of his emotional turmoil.

He was the ruthless, contained, emotionless team leader that Morgan found so familiar. It was only the eyes that gave the other man away. Morgan hoped to never see that particular look in Hotch's eyes ever again.

Morgan looked away, as the vehicle sped past fifteenth and Jackson street intersection. Morgan—the man who was so unclear on his religious beliefs—said a quick and heartfelt prayer that Emily—a woman he loved equally as much as he did his sisters—would be ok.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Spencer scrambled to the edge of the fifteen foot gaping hole that Emily had disappeared into. Dust and debris flew all around as he called for his colleague.

She didn't answer. His hand was sweaty, so badly his weapon nearly slid out of his grip as he rested it on the jagged board he rested on. He wouldn't do Emily any good if he fell on her.

Kinsey crept carefully to the hole, coming from the other direction. "Do you see her?"

"No! Wait, there! Back left, on those rafters!" Spencer said, the dust was settling and he could see the bright purple of the blouse Emily had been wearing. "I see her! Emily! Emily!"

Max and Spencer could hear the sirens in the background. Spencer prayed they'd get there faster.

Something moved below them and Spencer thought for a moment that it was Emily.

It wasn't. Thomas Corison stood over Emily, and Spencer could see she wasn't moving. Blood was visible down her shirt, down the side of her pale face, matted in the dark curls.

"FBI, do not move!" Spencer yelled, grip tightening on his weapon. "Step away from her and put your hands where I can see them!"

Corison didn't comply. Spencer's eyes caught the flash of a blade, bright in the midst of the dust and shadowed third story. He bent over the unconscious woman, and Spencer saw his hand tangle in Emily's hair.

Watched as he tilted Emily's head back and raised the blade closer.

"Corison! Do not move!" Spencer called one last time in a firm voice that didn't betray the fear in the pit of his stomach.

The man actually laughed, before bending even closer to Emily.

Spencer didn't hesitate. He took the shots. Three shots just like Hotchner had taught him.

Corison went down, two feet from Emily. Knife still gripped in his hand.

Emily still hadn't moved.

"I'm going down there." Spencer said, as he began moving.

"Spencer, wait!" Max said. "Stay to the left, the right looks rotted."

"Go down, make sure the responders know what happened. They might want to go in through the stairs, not the roof." Spencer ordered, his voice rising and falling in more stereotypically Reid fashion.

"Be careful! And, good shot!" Max was already on her way down to street level.

Spencer took her advice, moving to the south of Emily's position. Several half broken boards were within reach and he edged his way down, as quickly and as carefully as he could in the circumstances. He was thankful she'd landed only fifteen or so feet below the roof line.

The last board broke beneath him and he caught his full weight with his left arm. He felt the muscle jerk, felt his shoulder pop as his body twisted. He ignored the pain.

He'd ignored pain before. Ignored it when Hinkle had him bound hand and foot.

He could do it again.

He kicked the knife from the UNSUB's fist, bent down to quickly check for a pulse. There wasn't one, and that was the last Spencer thought of Thomas Corison.

His every thought from then on was for Emily. She still hadn't moved, her body more still than Spencer had ever seen it.

She wasn't moving like a _Laspeyresia saltitans _now.

Spencer knelt beside her, one hand reaching for her neck, checking for a pulse.

His breath tightened in his chest, as his hand made contact with the smooth skin of her neck. Even though he wasn't sure he believed, his lips formed a prayer he'd not heard since he was a young boy, as he pressed slightly, feeling for any sign of life.

APOCALYPSE EIGHT

Hotch was the first one out of the car when it jerked to a halt at the curb. Morgan was less than three seconds behind him. First responders were clearing the building—an empty office structure owned by Corison's family—and still more were clattering up the fire escapes.

Max Kinsey waited at the top of the south structure. "Wait! Not everyone can be up here! The roof's been compromised structurally! Four of you, no more—the smallest you got! We can't risk the roof caving any more! The rest of you go in through the third floor corridors!"

Hotch heard her words and jerked into the building on the heels of the paramedics. His one thought was finding Emily. His one prayer was that she was still alive.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Emily's eyes popped open and in the dim light they looked completely black. She scared the shit out of Reid as he leaned over feeling for a pulse.

He jerked back, his body at an awkward angle as he leaned over his colleague. "Thank God! Where do you hurt?"

"Shorter list would be where do I _not _hurt." She whispered. "What the hell happened? Did I miss the party?"

"I think, Emily. You're about to be the party." Spencer said, hearing the rushing din of first responders as they ran the halls. "Can you move your toes?"

"Yeah. Let me see." Emily made a concerted effort to do a pain check. "Bruised ribs, landed on my side—hard, and one hell of a headache. My hand hurts, landed on the grip of my gun. Where is it? Did we get the bastard?"

"Yeah. We got him." Spencer didn't tell her the bastard had almost gotten her first. His eyes landed on the weapon she'd dropped, found it nearly a yard from her foot. He grabbed it carefully, slipping the safety quickly. She took it with her uninjured hand and reholstered it, gingerly.

"Good." She moved slowly, grabbing Spencer's hand when the rotted beam she'd landed on creaked alarmingly.

"Dr. Reid!" Max Kinsey yelled down, "What's the situation? We've got help coming!"

"Stable!" Reid yelled back. "But the floor here is rotted, too! I don't think we'll be leaving through the doors! Agent Prentiss is awake and lucid—and moving like a _Laspeyresia saltitans _larvae!"

"A what?" The freckle faced detective yelled down, getting ready to raise her radio to her mouth.

"A Mexican jumping bean!" Spencer yelled.

"Gotcha!" Max depressed the radio button. "Situation downgraded from critical to stable. Agent Prentiss is awake and I quote "moving around like a Mexican jumping bean'. These FEDs are weird, boys! Let's get them out of there! Third floor responders, be advised the flooring is precarious, proceed with extreme caution! Repeat, extreme caution!"

Hotch was nearly to the third floor when the radios crackled. He'd never heard a more welcome sound in his life. The first responders stopped them at the doors leading into the section where their agents were.

Hotch wanted to protest, but when the men said they could cause the floor to give way under _both _Spencer and Emily, Hotch turned quickly and rushed the last flight of stairs to the roof. He'd be there, he told Morgan and the responders, when they brought her up, no one was going to stop him.

No one tried.

The town had only eight paramedics and emergency responders, and twelve firefighters. Everyone always responded to an officer down call. Four of those twenty people were female, and were light enough to cover the roof without it caving any further. They surrounded the gaping hole and looked at the couple beneath.

"Sir. One of us is coming down." A voice yelled to Spencer.

"Stay to the south, the boards are a little more sturdy." Spencer responded, as a female firefighter followed much the same path he had.

"Ok, can you climb back out? We're lowering a ladder as soon as it's up here." The woman said.

"Yes." He didn't tell her his shoulder felt like it was now on fire. It had only been a ten or fifteen foot drop. But he only needed one hand to climb a ladder. "But what about Emily?"

"She's going out of here on a backboard."

"No she's not." Emily said firmly, moving to stand. "She's fully capable of getting out of here, with just a little help."

"We've got one ready to be lowered, if you're not capable of climbing out, ma'am. We'll need to have you looked at."

"It was a ten foot fall." Emily protested, "I once fell out a four story window."

"On a case?" Spencer asked.

"Metallica concert. 1987." Emily admitted. "My mother didn't approve."

"Still, ma'am. You're still bleeding, and you may have other injuries."

"Standard procedure." Spencer told her. "And you know Hotch will insist."

Emily's face immediately showed a hunted expression. She'd not even thought of her supervisor's reaction to all of _this_. And she had a sneaking suspicion he'd be waiting topside.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Morgan was getting impatient. He was ready to see Emily for himself, and knew Hotch felt the same way. But he also understood that the responders had to ensure _everyone's _safety, before pulling anyone out of the building.

It didn't make it easier on anybody waiting.

Det. Allen clamored up the rusted fire escape and stood behind the two men. Kinsey saw him and made her way carefully across the roof. "Kinsey, how 'bout a sit-rep?"

"Lowering the ladder, now. Superficial injuries, probably. She's insisting on climbing out on her own steam. Five minutes tops. You'll, uh, need to get the ME down here for Corison."

"What the hell went down up here, Max?" Allen asked, softly.

"We identified ourselves, thought he was coming out to talk. He shoved the door in our direction, it hit SSA Prentiss. Corison took off, Prentiss after him. Dr. Reid and I were right behind. He climbed the north fire escape. I went to the south to cut him off. I reached the roof, saw Corison and Prentiss coming from that direction. Reid was moving west, attempting to cut off Corison's route, trap him between the three of us. Agent Prentiss was almost close enough to pull him down. She moves to grab him, pulls him down slightly and the roof goes."

Morgan swore, his mind having no trouble imagining what it had been like. "Then what? The collapse kill Corison?"

"Uh, no. Dr. Reid did."

"What?" Hotch growled. "What happened?"

"We were looking over the edge, trying to determine where Prentiss and Corison were. Your agent was unconscious. Corison had a knife, sir. Reid identified himself, told Corison to freeze, when he refused, moved closer to Prentiss, Reid took the shot. It was a good, clean shoot." Her words were firm, frank, and Hotch and Morgan had no trouble believing her. "He then went down to check on SSA Prentiss. She awoke while he was examining her."

"Thank God." Morgan said, heartfelt. "Good boy, Reid."

Activity around the hole increased as first Reid's head was visible, followed by his tall, lanky body, then Prentiss's dark head. He turned and along with the nearest first responder, lent a hand down to the older agent.

Everyone froze as another ominous creak sounded under the two agents' weight.

Hotch's body tensed, and Morgan moved closer, his every instinct screaming at him to go to his teammates. He could see the bright red blood covering Prentiss's purple shirt. Saw the way she kept a hand pressed carefully to her left side. Hotch cursed beside him, and Morgan could actually see his supervisor trembling.

Morgan once again admired the man's phenomenal control. If the girl Morgan had been panting over appeared before him looking like that, he'd be at her side in an instant. Hotch was remaining as professional as he could. More than Morgan ever would.

Morgan also knew that _Emily _would expect Hotch to behave as her supervisor first, her _whatever _he was personally, last. Emily was an agent through and through, and he couldn't see her ever letting Hotch do anything to jeopardize that. Hotch most likely knew that, too.

The first responders surrounding Emily spread out, moving to more evenly distribute their weight. The female firefighter who'd climbed down to Emily and Spencer stayed right at the pair's sides, one hand raised to help support Emily as she limped across the building.

Toward the fire escape. Toward Morgan. Toward Hotch.

Reid walked beside her, obviously concerned, and it wasn't until he halfway to them that Morgan realized the boy was holding his left arm at an awkward angle. His face was pale, eyes large, but he didn't falter.

Morgan was proud of the kid. From what Kinsey had said, Reid had done good. And it was Emily walking out of that hole on her own two feet instead of the UNSUB.

Nothing could be more good than that, as far as Morgan was concerned.

Emily stopped at the mouth the fire escape, two feet away from Morgan and Hotch. Morgan could see the pain in her eyes, pain and embarrassment at being in the center of such drama. Being in the limelight—for any reason—wasn't really Emily Prentiss's cup of tea. She'd rather just be out doing her job. Morgan could understand that.

Hotch stepped forward, one hand rising to push the blood-caked, and dust-covered hair off her forehead, exposing the large gash on the right side of her temple. It was two inches from the faint scar from where Joseph Smith had hit her with a two by four. This time, there was twice as much blood.

She cradled her right hand gently in her left, and Hotch could see that it was swelling. She'd probably broken something. But she was alive, and standing before him. His voice was low, as he spoke, "Let's get you to the hospital, Em."

She nodded, moved a bit closer, admitted, "I think I'm going to need a bit of help with the stairs."

Hotch didn't hesitate, didn't have to stop to think—he bent down and gently lifted her into his arms, tucked her head tenderly on his shoulder and carried her the thirty plus feet to the street below.

"This isn't exactly what I meant." She told him, ruefully, aware of every eye on them—responders, firefighters, news cameras, rubberneckers and bystanders—Morgan and Reid. "People are watching."

"You really want to walk down thirty plus feet of rusted, rickety stairs?" His tone was reasonable, almost professional, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

"No." Emily said, wincing. "Thanks for the lift, Hotch."

"Care to tell me what happened up there?" His whisper was soft against her ear as he carried her to the waiting ambulance. It was standard procedure with any injury that the agent be thoroughly examined. And she'd need that hand—and her head—looked at.

"I had him. I was close enough to grab him, saw the stitching on his damned underwear." She said in disgust. "Then the roof was gone."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Reid's eyes." Emily smirked. "He was leaning over me when I opened mine and I think I scared him."

"Do you remember what happened to the UNSUB?" Hotch asked, sitting her on the gurney. The EMT immediately immobilized her right hand, while the second started wiping the blood and dirt off her face.

"No. Did the fall kill him?" Spencer hadn't let her look toward the body, had made her focus on him, and then the firefighters arrived. There wasn't time after that to worry about Corison.

"Reid took the shot, Em. Corison came after you with a knife. Left Reid no choice." Hotch's words were flat as he repeated what Kinsey had said. He didn't want to be the one to give her more nightmares, but he knew it came with the job.

"Dammit." Emily swore, both from his words and the antiseptic the EMT patted her head with. "So what next?"

"You get checked out, and then back to the hotel for you." Hotch insisted, climbing in the ambulance and moving to the front, out of the EMTs way.

"Sounds wonderful." Emily said, lying back on the gurney, her body finally relaxing, as the EMT worked. "Did you guys learn anything today?"

"Method of delivery. Coffee mugs re-enameled with Mojave venom. Enamel matches same general composition as the red substance found on the stabbing victims. And that's all we're saying about the case." He told her, his warm hand wrapping around her uninjured one. "You scared me."

Emily closed her eyes as the EMT cut the bloody purple tee from her body, revealing her black bra beneath. Revealed contusions already forming. It didn't even occur to her that Hotch could see her as well. "Scared me, too. God, Hotch…"

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Morgan insisted Spencer get his arm checked out, and assigned Detective Kinsey to drive the younger man. He'd not missed the way the girl's eyes had seemed drawn to Spencer whenever the good doctor wasn't looking.

Was there something in the air? Derek wondered, shaking his head. First JJ hooks La Montaigne, Garcia hooks that guy Lynch, Emily and Hotch were getting all love birded up, and now _Spencer'd _found a freckled face detective who appreciated wonder boy geniuses.

What the hell was a guy supposed to think? He got that the girls would be prime targets for the guys they met in this job. They were smart, beautiful, funny, engaging, and successful at what they did. Morgan wasn't blind to that.

Hotch and Emily had blown his whole preconceived ideas about both of them out of the water. He'd known Emily was lonely—though she'd never admitted it. And Hotch was one of those men who needed to be with a woman to remind himself that the world wasn't always the dark, horrific place they inhabited during cases. And he'd picked Emily as that woman. He wondered briefly if she knew what all that would mean. And it was good. Complex, terrifyingly quick, dramatic, and surprising. If it had thrown the rest of the team for a loop, he could only imagine what it had to have done to the two people most involved.

Hotch was an all or nothing kind of guy. Derek had known that for years—and it had been reiterated when Strauss had suspended the guy. Hotch had made a decision the day he'd defied Hayley's wishes and returned to the BAU—Emily at his side.

Derek wondered if he shouldn't have seen the signs then.

Detective Allen and some of his second shift officers were carefully canvassing the building, looking for indisputable proof of Corison's guilt.

Morgan was following Hotch's orders, overseeing the locals' investigation. Hopefully, they'd be able to wrap this case up and get back to Washington. Get Emily, JJ, and Garcia out of this bum-ass town.

"Detective Allen, man you gotta see this!" A voice called from a window above where Morgan and Allen were standing. "We got more bodies!"

Morgan was the first one up the stairs.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

They were taking Emily for x-rays when Hotch's cell phone rang. "Hotchner."

"Hey, man. How is she?" Morgan demanded.

"Bruised. Slightly concussed. Doing x-rays to check for broken bones, now. What have you found?"

"Found the knife Corison was holding to Prentiss's neck when Spencer took the shot. White enamel handle, man. We, uh, found twelve more bodies, Hotch."

"COD?" Hotch forced himself to think about the case and not about the image of Emily helpless with a knife at her throat.

"Six appear to have starved to death, the other six is as of yet to be determined. Looks like some sort of bee stings." Morgan's voice was puzzled and Hotch had to admit he echoed the same emotion. "So do we have a third UNSUB?"

"I don't know. How long have the victims been dead? Anything stand out?"

"Some of them are kids, Hotch. Been dead at least eight weeks." Morgan said, knowing how the cases with kids hit his boss hard. "But this town's not reported any missing children in eighteen years."

"Was there any IDs?" Hotch asked. "Anything else to go on?"

"The twelve bodies were manacled, man. With steel shackles that have been enameled black. This one's above me, man. White, red, and black enamel. Poisons, stabbings, starvation, and bees. It just doesn't make sense."

"Have Garcia find out whatever she can on Corison. Have her track down the manufacturer and distributer of the enamel." Hotch ordered. "Where's Reid?"

"They took him to the out-patient treatment center a few blocks from Corison's place." Morgan said. "He wrenched his shoulder climbing down to Emily. He'll be fine, man. Should be back here in a few minutes to go over everything that happened."

"I didn't realize. I'll speak to him later. Anything else I should know?"

"Garcia's actually hacked the security cameras for Corison's building, man. We got the whole collapse and shooting on video." Morgan paused, not sure if he should tell Hotch the rest.

"Tell me, Morgan."

"Seconds, Hotch. If Spencer had been a few seconds later, Corison would have slit her throat—and laughed while he did it."

"God." Hotch rubbed his face, wearily. "Should I tell her?"

"And give her more nightmares?" Morgan asked. "I don't know. But she'll probably want to see the tapes."

"She doesn't need to see them, but I will tell her they exist. How can I not? She has the right to know what happened." Hotch said, knowing what he would expect if their roles were reversed. "I'll be taking her back to the hotel once she's released. Her concussion isn't serious enough to warrant an overnight stay. Have JJ and Garcia head back over there. I don't want her alone. As soon as I get her settled with them, I'll meet you and Spencer back at Corison's."

"Gotcha, Hotch." Morgan said.

"And Morgan—have Garcia send the video to my handheld. I need to see what happened."

"You sure you want to? There's nothing on it that changes anything, Hotch." Morgan protested.

"Morgan—just have her send the files." Hotch hung up the phone and followed the signs leading to radiology.

He'd watch the tapes himself, before telling her what happened—before giving her yet another nightmare.

APOCALYPSE NINE

_Herb Keller said:_

_You'd have thought we threatened to release the four horsemen of the Apocalypse._

Garcia's fingers trembled over the keys before she sent the file to her boss. It was as equally bad as it had been watching Reid dying on camera, then coming back. She'd been so still—Garcia and JJ had known she was dead. They'd watched her fall—first from the roof's security camera, and second, from the third floor's obviously antiquated camera. They'd known it wasn't good the instant the dust had settled.

Then that filthy bastard had grabbed her, lowered the knife. Garcia couldn't breathe. Had closed her eyes against the tears. Felt JJ's hand gripping her shoulder so tight. Heard the sounds of the other woman's tears, as they waited.

Then they'd had to watch it again to send it to Morgan. Then again to send it to Hotch. JJ'd stopped watching, but Garcia hadn't. She'd watched it over and over. She'd watch it over and over again that night, too. Just like she sometimes watched Reid over and over in her sleep.

She'd been the first to realize if Spencer had been three seconds later, Emily would be dead. Dead, instead of at the hospital getting x-rays.

Emily Prentiss never came that close. Not in the entire time she'd been in the BAU. Even Joseph Smith hadn't had her down for long. Even falling over a forty foot cliff hadn't gotten her to slow down. Once again it showed how tenuous at best their lives really were. Penelope was well aware of that. She still refused to even enter the coffee shop where she'd met Battle.

They'd been at the hotel, silent and worried, for nearly an hour when a soft knock sounded. JJ opened the door quietly, exhausted and subdued. This case was turning into one of those nightmare ones that changed the entire team forever. Changed the dynamics just like Hinkle had Spencer, the way Frank and Jane had changed Gideon—the way New York had changed Rossi. JJ just didn't know how much more the team could stand.

Hotch stood in the doorframe, a sleeping Emily in his arms. "She fell asleep in the car."

"Oh, my poor jumping bean!" Garcia wailed as loud as one could in a whisper.

Hotch actually smiled wearily at the description. Apparently—JJ was jelly bean and Emily jumping bean for this case. Penelope's nicknames changed with the cases.

It was just one of those things the team counted on. One of the things the team needed.

He carried Emily over to the pullout, making no pretense that she'd be sleeping anywhere else. Not tonight, and not anymore.

Aaron Hotchner's feelings were no secret, not anymore. Not from his team, the people he considered his family—with the exceptions of Sean and Jack. Hayley no longer had a place in his circle, and he hadn't thought about her in days—almost weeks. Forever.

Garcia pulled the blankets back, JJ moved in to pull off Emily's boots. Her favorite pair of charcoal fatigues were ruined, and Hotch had every intention of just letting her sleep in the hospital scrubs a nurse had donated. They had frolicking puppies and big orange kittens on them. Emily'd laughed—from the pain medication, no doubt—and named the cats all Kurt, and the puppies all Clooney. Soon the blanket was tucked up around her, and the three colleagues stood staring down at her. The same way they'd stared at Rossi a few weeks back. The way they'd stared down at Penelope a few months before that. And Reid, and at Elle before that.

It had once again been a little too close for comfort.

Hotch didn't want to leave her, but the rational part of him insisted he must. It was much like what he felt every weekend when he returned Jack to his mother after a visit. An emptiness and sense of dissatisfaction, and loss. But…different, too. There was nothing the least bit _parental_ in the way he felt toward Emily.

The contained man didn't know what to do with these new emotions. Didn't know which direction to release them.

"JJ, I'm headed back over to the scene. If she wakes up, she's to take this antibiotic. This is a pain pill, take with crackers. They said it's safe even though she has a mild concussion. Don't let her argue about taking them. I'll be back as soon as I can." His words were soft as he handed the prescription bag to the blonde on his left. "Garcia, keep running everything you can think of. We need to find out if Corison had any associates—Morgan's determined there is a third UNSUB out there somewhere. And I want the bastards."

"Yes, sir." Garcia said, stuttering slightly. Hotch had yet to look away from Emily.

Finally, the man left abruptly, turning his back on the injured woman and the two blondes. His steps were filled with purpose, his shoulders back with determination.

Garcia had only one thought as the door closed behind him, and she voiced it aloud. "Bet he's got his Superman costume on under that suit. Hotchner's going hunting."

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch, Morgan, and Reid worked straight through dinner. Kinsey brought them pizza and sodas, dropped it on the table beside them. Left to repeat the action with JJ and Garcia.

The FBI was going merciless on these UNSUBS and their intensity was more than a little frightening. Twenty-four victims, one UNSUB, dead. Two agents wounded in the LOD.

Hotchner and his pack were hunting. And they weren't stopping until they had to.

By the time Hotch called it a night they had a list of twenty-three names of individuals Thomas Mark Corison had had even the most minimal of contacts with over the last twelve months.

Tomorrow, they'd meet with each person and go through them one by one. Until they found who they were looking for. After they held a press conference.

It was nearly eleven when they pushed through the hotel door. Only Garcia remained awake. "Hey, boys."

"How is she?" Reid demanded, almost immediately.

"Jumping bean down and out!" Garcia reported. "Gave her the pain pill two hours ago—minimum of an argument. Antibiotics three hours before that. She's slept almost completely undisturbed since then. Doing good. Did you find anything?"

"Twenty-three names we need you to run in the morning." Hotch handed her a list, before yawning. He was ready for a shower and falling into bed. Beside Emily.

That's exactly what he did. By midnight he was curled around her as gently as he could. She smelled clean, healthy, and alive, and he relished that as he drifted off.

Emily awoke around two, hot arms around her, and a craving for chocolate the only thought on her mind. Hotch was sound asleep beside her, head thrown back.

She debated between curling up around her supervisor or heading to the vending machines in the lobby for Reese's peanut butter cups. She'd missed dinner, so that made up her mind for her. She'd not be gone long.

Spencer found her asleep in the lobby over an hour later. He sat and watched her for a while, thinking over the day's events and all the changes that had taken place within the team. Garcia soon joined him, in search of her own chocolate—and her friends. They spoke a while about things—Emily and Hotch in particular, and were debating how to get Emily back to the hotel room when Derek arrived. He solved the problem by scooping his friend up and carrying her. He dropped her back into bed beside Hotch, and the rest of the BAU finally slept—secure in the knowledge that, at least for the night—they were all in one piece.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch felt the pressure to solve the case intensifying as JJ—dressed in a soft gray suit with pink blouse—approached the podium confidently. One hand rested on the noticeable bump of her stomach, emphasizing her vulnerable appearance. It was what Hotch was counting on.

He felt like he'd thrown her to the sharks, although logically he knew she was a more than adept swimmer in this particular sea. And the brunette beside her wasn't a little fish herself. Emily looked controlled, collected, professional, and self-assured. Her black suit and red silk camisole were striking and modest in cut—Hotch couldn't help but notice how beautiful she actually was.

He'd always thought she was an attractive woman, even when he'd distrusted her completely. He remembered the way she'd told him how she hated politics, how she'd paused just short of disrespectful, before uttering, a _sir. _She'd stood to leave, and he'd just known she'd be a problem for him. She'd proven him wrong in that area, and he'd found it easier and easier to see just what it was that made her unique. He'd just not let himself act on those observations. Until now.

She'd curled her hair, and applied a little more makeup to highlight the depths of her eyes and emphasize the contour of her mouth. She'd look good on camera, her and JJ both.

The stark white bandage covering the right of her forehead and the one wrapped around her right hand contrasted nicely with the black of her suit. Drew the eyes. Caught the attention.

The team had decided it would be good PR for Emily to be the face people associated with the capture of the town's mass murderer. Her obvious injuries would reassure the people that the FBI was taking the case very personally. JJ's presence, soft and vulnerable, ensured the public that the FBI were people, too, instead of cold and powerful authoritarians.

Like the image Hotch somehow inevitably projected when on screen.

Hotch wanted a sympathetic icon when the BAU—through Emily and JJ—told the people watching that Thomas Corison wasn't the only killer out there. Told them they were still looking for two more unidentified murderers. Told them their lives were still in danger.

On stage, JJ skillfully explained the team's position, explained that they were following several possibilities. She then turned in Emily's direction. "SSA Prentiss will tell you a bit more about the men we're looking for. Agent Prentiss and I will answer any questions after the briefing. Ladies and gentlemen, SSA Prentiss."

Emily gave a smile and nod to the blonde woman as they exchanged places. She kept her composure, knowing it was vital she not show any nerves.

Emily hated being in the limelight, but her voice was steady as she spoke. "The first man we are looking for is a white man in his forties. He is a charming man, and one whom people trust immediately. He is physically fit, taking great care in his appearance. He most likely is a transplant to this area, but not recently. Has a relatively prestigious job. He has many acquaintances, but does not form lasting social bonds. The second man we are looking for is the direct opposite. We believe he is in his late twenties to early thirties, is most likely slight of build. He lives in his partner's shadow. He is most likely under-employed. His co-workers will describe him as being a complainer and spiteful. His only close bond will be with his partner. We believe strongly that someone has seen and had contact with these individuals. We have set up a tip line and we encourage anyone who believes they may know these two men to call."

Then the questioning began.

A woman shouted out first, fast and loud. "That's all you've got? Two white guys with tempers and bad attitudes? Sounds like my ex-husband, both of them!"

Slight laughter ensued, and Emily smiled politely. "These men take the slightest wrong to the extreme, and they will be noticeable."

"Agent Prentiss—can you tell us how Thomas Corison was involved?" A handsome man asked from near the front of the reporters asked. He looked vaguely familiar to Emily, but she couldn't place him.

"We believe Thomas Corison was acquainted with both these individuals. We are currently looking into the possibility."

"Agent Prentiss, you were injured in pursuit of Corison." The same man demanded, talking over his colleagues. "Would you care to comment on that?"

"Thomas Corison fled from my colleagues and I because the bodies of twelve victims were being concealed on his property." Emily said—she'd expected some of these type of questions.

"Rumor has it he had a knife to your throat and nearly killed you. Do you care to comment on how he died?" The man was persistent, dogged in a manner that immediately flagged Emily's interest.

"I'm afraid I'm not free to comment on the manner in which Corison died. The matter is still under investigation at this time." Emily said, firmly. Something about the man really niggled her brain. Where had she seen him before? "Please, let's not forget that the purpose of this conference is to apprehend the men responsible for fifteen deaths—and _not_ focus on the events of yesterday."

"How are you determining which of Corison's associates to focus on?" The reporter continued to dominate his colleagues. Emily couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was about him, and her eyes met Hotch's clear across the room, only for an instant.

Hotch moved closer to the front, sensing something about the way she looked at him.

"We can't go into that at this time." Emily said, she motioned JJ off the stage as Hotch approached from the left. Emily noticed Morgan moving unobtrusively to the right. "That is information that is only pertinent to the investigation. Anyone else?"

"What about your altercation with Chief Scott Palmers? Can you tell us anything about that?" The same man shouted out over the crowd. He seemed oblivious to the other reporters surrounding him, focused solely on Emily.

He didn't even look at JJ as she moved off the stage and behind Morgan. He didn't even look at Hotch as he moved onto the stage.

He never looked away from Emily.

_He's a white guy, late thirties, early forties. Used to being in charge. _Emily began categorizing the reporter. _Superficially charming. Reasonably fit, oblivious and uncaring about others around him. Manner shows aggression and some signs of disorganization. Demanding attention from the one whom he perceives is in charge. Me. Relatively prestigious job for this small of a town. Dominant. _

He fit the profile of the first man she had described. Almost to the letter. His eyes never left her, and she frantically tried to recall _where_ she'd seen him before. She couldn't let him see her calm breaking, so she made a determined effort to keep both hands visible on the podium. To not drop her un-bandaged hand to the holster she'd moved to the left side when dressing that morning.

What were the odds, though, that he'd come to them, rather then the other way around?

Not high. Not this profile.

Of course, profiles could be revised.

Hotch was at her elbow, and she leaned back, covering the microphone with one hand. "I've got this. But keep your eyes peeled. Is JJ out of here?"

"Reid took her back to the precinct." Hotch gave her a nod and stepped back. They didn't want to give the impression she was hiding something, so they kept the exchange incredibly quick, and she smiled at him softly. He pulled back, leaving her center stage, in the limelight, downplaying his own status. Making her the main center of all attention. Making her the face of the team. Making her the central target.

"I'm sorry—does anyone else have a question?" Emily deliberately looked over the man's head at the reporters toward the back of the room. "Someone else?"

"Is it true Chief Palmers was arrested after assaulting a female member of your team?" A woman yelled from the back of the room. "Can you tell us which agent it was? And whether the attack was provoked."

"That line of questioning is not pertinent to our search for these men." Emily began, "Chief Palmers was arrested on some minor charges two days ago, and those charges are a matter of public record. However, I am sure you'll all agree that my time, and that of my colleagues, is better spent on finding these two individuals than discussing Chief Palmers' actions. Don't you all agree? Does anyone have any questions regarding our profiles?"

"Just one more question—wasn't it true Palmers was arrested after physically assaulting _you _and making sexual threats?" The same strange man demanded. Hotch took half a step closer to Emily. Morgan circled around the front of the crowd, placing his body between Emily's and the man's. In his black tee and dark fatigues he could easily have been mistaken for just another one of the security guards milling throughout the courthouse. Hotch had counted on that anonymity.

He'd had a suspicion at least one of the UNSUBS would be nearby.

"If there will be no more questions regarding these two men responsible for the deaths of fifteen people, I will say thank you for your time. And remind those watching that the FBI has set up a tip line, which will be flashing across the bottom of your screen. Please, remember that the FBI can't do this without your help. Thank you and have a good day."

Emily moved to step off the stage, Hotch a half step behind her. His hand was on his weapon and his eyes on the crowd. Every primal instinct within him was telling him _something wasn't right. _And Emily was the target.

Because he'd made her one. Deliberately.

A voice rang out, one recognized as the persistent reporter's, "One more question, Emily! Do you believe in the day of Judgment?"

Hotch moved, quickly jerking closer to her, one thought in his mind, _The son of a bitch had called her Emily!_

As the words were shouted above the crowd the window above Emily's head shattered, the sound of rounds being fired echoed throughout the old building's cavernous lobby, where they'd set up the conference. People began screaming and running for the exits.

Hotch pulled his weapon clear from his holster with his right hand, and with his left he shoved Emily behind a huge marble column. Her shoulder glanced off the stone and she'd have a bruise to show for it later, but that didn't even occur to her as her mind processed what was happening and her eyes searched the panicking crowd for the shooter—or the reporter whom she just _knew _was one of the UNSUBS.

Her weapon was drawn and ready, held steady in her uninjured hand. She peered around the left of the column, Hotch peered around the right, equally as steady. They were trained for this very thing.

And they were both really good at what they'd been trained to do.


	13. Chapter 14

APOCALYPSE TEN

_Kenneth Deffeyes __said _

"_The least-bad scenario is a hard landing, global recession worse than the 1930s. The worst-case borrows from the Four Horsemen of the __Apocalypse__: war, famine, pestilence and death.__"_

Hotch's eyes scanned the crowd methodically, searching for the shooter as the court officers and Det. Allen's men secured the lobby. By Hotch's estimate only two minutes had passed. Emily stood beside him, her own eyes trained on the other half of the crowd.

Neither knew where Morgan was. When the shooting had started, he'd been three feet behind Emily. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Hotch!" Emily said insistently. "South wall, what is that?"

Hotch's eyes immediately landed on what she referred to. Dozens of large sage green splashes of something peppered the white marble. It hadn't been there before the press conference. Hotch would bet money on it being green enamel.

The enamel was the one piece of the puzzle they still hadn't figured out.

"Stay here." He ordered, "I'll check it out, I think I know what it is. Keep your eyes open!"

"Gotcha." Emily scanned the crowd, watching each face carefully but quickly as Hotch wove his way to the back wall. She caught his movement as he lifted one hand and touched the green.

He returned to her position quickly, as Allen's men gave the signal that the floor was clear. The detective met them, concern on his face. "You both ok?"

"Fine." Hotch said, "Did they catch the guy?"

"We have the reporter. Damien Roberts, moved here five years ago from Seattle. SSA Morgan's got him in a squad car. Says he'll meet you and Agent Prentiss down at the station."

"What about the shooter?" Emily asked.

"No sign of him." Allen admitted, they'd scoured the building, but found no sign of whomever had fired the weapon. "Not even sure what caliber he used."

"Paintball gun." Emily said, decisively, bending down and picking up a small ball filled with metallic sage green paint, it obviously hadn't burst like it was designed to. Morgan had talked her into a paintball battle once; her, him, and two of his friends from the ATF. The little rounds hurt, but she'd left with two invitations from both Derek's friends for dinner later that week.

She'd never gotten to go out with either of them—she'd always had to cancel for cases. That was six months ago. She somehow doubted they even remembered her.

"Detective Allen!" An officer called from the front of the room, by the podium. "We got somethin' you need to see!"

Emily holstered her weapon as she followed the two men to the podium. Adrenalin still ran through her blood, and as it abated she began to shiver. Hotch moved closer, and she felt the warmth radiating from him. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, realizing he'd done it without thinking.

Was he that attuned to her? So aware of her and her body that he'd act so unthinkingly?

It frightened her.

The officer who'd called them over was holding a cylindrical tube, much like what drive-through tellers at the bank used to send envelopes through the pneumatic pipes. Inside was a piece of paper.

It had been sat on the podium, centered and precise. Someone wanted it to be found quickly.

Hotch motioned Allen to open it, and they waited.

"It's addressed to SSA Prentiss, sir." Allen said. Aaron Hotchner was one of those men that would always automatically be addressed as _sir_.

"What?" Emily asked, she moved closer, edging in between Allen and the officer. Hotch moved to read the letter over her shoulder. He placed one hand on her shoulder and leaned her back slightly, against his chest, clearing his line of sight.

_My dearest Agent Emily Prentiss and team;_

_I want to offer my sincerest apologies for your ordeal. Corison was sloppy and inefficient. My one regret is that I could not be the one to take his life and send him to the Judgment. _

_Remember, my dear, that only by cleansing those of this world who are an abhorrence to my desire, can I achieve the peace I so long for. __If you are pained by external things, it is not they that disturb you, but your own judgment of them. And it is in your power to wipe out that judgment now. Is your judgment correct, my dear?_

_ I'll be waiting…_

_The Judge_

Emily finished reading aloud, and turned to look at the man standing behind her. Had the reporter put this up there? She'd not noticed him holding something as large as the tube, so where had he hidden it? And why would he be obvious, if he wasn't wanting to get caught?

Nothing about the note made sense.

"Let's get back to the precinct. I'll want to interview Roberts after we go over things one more time. Have Garcia run the tape of the conference. We're missing something!" Hotch almost growled. He knew very well what could have happened here today. And he was aware that it would have been on his hands. He'd made her the target. Deliberately. And they'd not caught the shooter. "This isn't the same MO, nothing about this is making sense—we're missing something!"

"White enamel, red enamel, black enamel, green enamel? White, red, black, green." Emily muttered to herself, "White, red, black, green. Poison, stabbing, starvation, and infestation. Four colors, four CODs. Corison, Roberts, the third guy, and now someone else who wrote the letter. Four UNSUBs."

"What are you getting that?" Hotch asked, slowly, as he, Allen, and the officer looked at her, puzzled. He'd seen that look in her eyes often enough to know when she was on to something.

"The apocalypse!" Emily suddenly said, grabbing Hotch by the arm and pulling him slightly to her in her excitement. "It's following the tale of the Four horsemen of the Apocalypse! _And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth_. I need to check something, Hotch. We need to get back to the precinct!"

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Emily and Hotch practically ran into the station house, passing both Morgan and Reid in the hallway. Emily immediately headed to the little room that had become the command center of the BAU. JJ looked up from where she was rescanning the various files. Garcia sat beside her, absently scanning the list of twenty-three names Hotch had given her the night before.

Emily grabbed the list, and the two lists pinned to the bulletin board that listed the clients and employees for both the investment and law firms. "Garcia! Have you connected Thomas Corison to anyone on both of these lists? What about Damien Roberts?"

"Not yet. Why, jumping bean, what did you find out?" Garcia said, startled at the intensity on the other woman's face.

"There wasn't just three UNSUBS. Four. They're modeling themselves after the four horsemen from Revelations." Emily began. "The white horse, is commonly thought of as the rise to power, both investment planners and lawyers have power. Historically, to take power from someone, you had to kill them quickly—poison was commonly used. White enamel mugs. The red, is war. He carries a blood red sword. Red enamel on stab wounds. The third is _black. _And is known as death, commonly seen as famine and starvation. Black manacles, starved bodies. Some also say it represents plagues—bees! Sage green, is the fourth color. It's a misconception based on an incorrect translation of the Hebrew word for ill. Was mistranslated as paisley, or sage green. Green paintballs shot on the wall of the courthouse. It encompasses all the others. The letter said something about the _Judgment _and the _judge. _Courthouse, place of judgment. The fourth UNSUB is controlling the actions of the others, including Corison."

"Chick, slow down, what letter?" Derek said, coming to stand beside her.

"During the mess at the courthouse, someone placed a letter on the podium." Hotch handed it first to Morgan who read it and passed it to Reid.

Emily took a deep breath before continuing. "He quoted Marcus Aurelius. Which is ironic because Aurelius never believed in the afterlife and judgment. This last UNSUB is guiding the others, but if he truly knows Aurelius's history, he doesn't believe in the final Judgments himself. Aurelius supposedly wanted and desired death as the end to all desires. If cornered, this guy will most likely try to kill himself—and whomever is around him."

Allen was puzzled. "So we still got two more out there?"

"Yes." Hotch said. "And Roberts is the only lead we have to him. We need a profile on this new UNSUB before we do the interrogation. Let's work fast, people!"

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

"Hotch! You guys got to see this!" Reid ran into the back room. "Someone's leaked a video of the altercation with Palmers to the media. It's all over the news—Nancy Grace, everything!"

Hotch, Morgan, and JJ ran to the center conference room, where Garcia, Allen, and Prentiss all sat watching the screen.

"It's someone's cell phone." Garcia determined.

"JJ, on the phone—find out who leaked that. Everyone else, we have other, more important things to worry about." Hotch said, as his eyes moved away from the screen. No matter how much he wanted to stay and hear exactly what was being said on screen, he knew they had other things to do.

"Yes, sir." Emily said, absently, eyes still glued to the screen, as the words of Palmers' threats to her replayed.

Hotch knew then she wasn't really aware of what he'd said. He motioned everyone else out of the room, and moved up behind her. One hand came up to rest on her shoulder. "Emily?"

"They're demanding to know if that's what it is really like." Emily said, sighing. "If law enforcement is like that for women."

"It's not important." Hotch said. "Palmers is no longer in his position."

"But there are thousands more like him." Emily said. "You know, the first time something like that happened to me, I was still in the academy, I was twenty-four. Guy in the same program. Backed me against the wall. Told me the FBI had no place for a woman like me, but _he _had a place for me. Will it ever end, do you think?"

"I don't know." Hotch said, rubbing her shoulder, noticing idly that she didn't seem to avoid his touch any longer. It was a good sign, for him, that she was more comfortable around him, less on edge. He hated he'd made her feel that insecure with his coldness over the last year plus. She hadn't ever deserved that from him. And he was thankful she was beginning to feel comfortable enough to share personal feelings and experiences with him. She'd not done that since the night he'd told her he needed her objective—and she'd replied she needed to know she was human. She'd backed away from him in every way but professionally ever since. Until recently, until now. "There will always be those who seek to control those they perceive as weaker, and it will often be in a sexual manner. I wish I could change it, wish it would change—but it won't until more women join the ranks."

"But with something like this showing—why would they want to?" Emily sighed, dejectedly, leaning back into him ever so slightly. She watched as, on screen, her knee flashed and Palmers doubled over slightly. Shivered when his promise that it wasn't over yet sounded through the speakers. "I probably shouldn't have aimed off-center."

"Come on. Let's go. I want a working profile of this final UNSUB before I go in to question Roberts." Hotch said, as she turned around to face him. His hand dropped from her shoulder, moved to rest around her back. He didn't like the look in her eyes. Big, dark, vulnerable—resigned. Almost defeated, in a way he wasn't used to ever seeing her. "I need you on this. Are you ok?"

"Yes. I am." Emily said, stiffening her spine slightly. She took a deep breath, and was once again SSA Emily Prentiss, ready to conquer the world. Wonder Woman—as Garcia called her. "I want in on the interrogation. I've seen Roberts before, Hotch. I just can't place him, yet."

"You sure you're up to it?" Hotch asked, not liking the idea at all. This case had been a nightmare, and it was especially difficult to see the way it was affecting her.

"It's my job. And I am more than capable of doing it." Emily said, firmly. "I need you to respect that."

"I do." Hotch said, and he did. "But whenever an agent is injured, I like to cut them some slack."

"I don't need slack, Hotch." Emily said. She'd learned early on in the academy that any sign of weakness in a woman counted against them twice what it would in a man. Slack was never really an option. "Let's find the others, and do this."

"Yes, ma'am." He said.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

"Are you all sure she should be in there?" Detective Allen asked from his place between Kinsey and Morgan. They were all arranged in front of a one way mirror, watching as Prentiss and Hotch prepared to do the interrogation.

"She'll be fine. Emily and Hotch interview really well together." Spencer said, shrugging. "They almost read each other's minds."

"Isn't that what you all are trained to do?" Allen asked, skeptically.

"Well, yes, in a way, I guess you can call it that." Spencer began.

"Yes or no, Spence." Kinsey demanded softly, cutting off his ramble. Morgan grinned to himself.

"What Reid means is, we're trained to observe criminal behavior. But Hotch and Emily—they don't need to be looking at each other, and they finish each other's sentences effortlessly. Takes a person a while to catch on, but once you see it, you can't miss it." Morgan said.

"You all do that." Kinsey said. "It's a bit off-putting at first. After that, it's kind of cool."

"But she can handle it?" Allen asked again. The woman in question looked vulnerable and delicate behind the glass. The white bandages, the curled hair, the big, dark doe eyes—none of it shouted skilled interrogator to him. "You sure?"

"She wouldn't be in there if she couldn't." Morgan said, emphatically. "Hotch wouldn't allow it. And Emily is one hell of an agent."

"If you say so." Skepticism still colored the man's voice.

"Just watch. And be prepared to be amazed." Morgan insisted, lips quirking. "Interrogation magic coming up!"

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Before they led Roberts in, Hotch grabbed Emily's arm and pulled her closer. "Keep the fact that we know about the symbolism behind everything back. These guys get off on thinking they know more than we do."

"Understood," She whispered as the door opened and one of Allen's officers led the man in. He smiled, quirked his lips in Emily's direction.

He completely ignored Hotch.

"Mr. Roberts, please sit down." Hotch said. Emily would only speak when Roberts cooperated; Hotch would use her attention as a reward. Make Roberts work for her attention. Make him almost beg for it. Make him screw up. Just to have those dark eyes focused on him.

Hotch understood how much a man would work for a woman like Emily Prentiss.

"Sure thing. Hello, Agent Prentiss." Roberts said, as he dropped into the chair.

Emily didn't answer.

"Mr. Roberts, you know why you're here." Hotch said. He took the seat directly in front of the man. Emily stood, leaning against the wall near the door. Out of Roberts' direct line of sight. "We have a few questions for you."

"I'll answer any question you have—if Emily does the asking." Roberts said, turning, eying her closely.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Detective Allen was still skeptical. "Why won't he let Prentiss question him, if he's willing to talk to her?"

"We can't reward him, until he gives us something to use. He's focused on Emily, so by denying him the privilege of speaking with her—we maintain control."

"So why is she in there?"

"Because seeing her, yet not talking to her, can throw him off. Make him make a mistake. We really don't have a whole lot to tie him to anything. In fact, we really don't have much to hold him on, if at all. But his prints were all over the note." Reid said, eyes trained on the UNSUB. "Hotch is keeping control, Emily is just in there as a shiny carrot."

"And this will achieve what?" Kinsey asked, from her position in front of Reid. She was a shorter woman, and the crown of her head passed under his chin with a good three inches of clearance. He tried not to notice how good she smelled.

It brought back too many good, recent, memories. He hoped he'd get to re-experience those memories before the team headed back to Washington. "It'll throw him off his guard. He might let something slip."

"Ok." Kinsey said. "Then what next?"

"Then we find the other sons-of-bitches." Morgan said, as Garcia entered the room. "Hey sweet-girl. Whatcha got for me?"

"Whatever you think you can take, my cinnamon chocolate hottie. I have two names for you." She waved a sheet of paper under his nose.

"Great, baby-girl. You got addresses?"

"Better than that…one of these guys is right here in the building. Officer Phillip Holmes. If I recall correctly, he's one of your men, Detective Allen." She said, softly. "He's Corison's cousin on his father's side—and Roberts' cousin on his mother. And Walter J. Coulier."

"_Judge _Coulier?" Allen said disbelievingly. "He's in on this?"

"I don't know, but he's connected to Corrison, Roberts, and Holmes, sir." Garcia said. "I don't know if it's what you're looking for, but I figured I'd let you know in person what I found."

"Dammit, Holmes is the officer who led Roberts into the room!" Allen said, suddenly. "We need to re-search Roberts, now!"

He ran from the room, followed closely by Morgan. Kinsey, JJ and Reid continued to watch the interrogation. JJ hit the light that signaled Hotch and Emily they needed to speak to them. They had to get them out of there. Neither one was armed—it was too dangerous to have a weapon in a small space with a serial killer.

Hotch nodded to Emily to open the door, but she didn't get the chance.

Roberts pulled his hands free from the cuffs. And jumped from his chair. His hand was around Emily's arm before she even realized he'd moved. He pulled her against his body, holding a small knife against her neck and backing them both toward the wall.

The door slammed open, revealing both Allen and Morgan with their weapons drawn. Kinsey and Reid stood behind them, also trained on the man in the bright orange jumpsuit.

Hotch froze, eyes trained on Roberts. "Let her go."

"I don't want to do that." Roberts said, in a completely calm tone. "I like her. I think she likes me, too."

"Why are you doing this?" Hotch asked, his own tone mirroring Roberts'. "You have to know this won't work out good for you."

"The judge has promised me my reward."

"Judge Coulier?" Morgan asked, repeating the name Garcia had given them.

"Yes. So you do know him." Roberts said. "A wise man. You should read his writings."

"What reward has he promised you?" Hotch demanded.

"A life of peace and happiness. Wealth. Promised land, paradise." Roberts' voice rang with a fanaticism that the BAU recognized. They'd heard it before—the Frances Goerhing case, other cult-type cases. Those who'd used religion or their versions of one to hurt or torture others. Roberts, an obviously educated, confident man, had bought this judge's rhetoric hook, line, and sinker. "Emily."

"Excuse me?" Hotch said.

"Coulier promised that if I completed my mission, I can have Emily."

"What mission? Why her?" Hotch demanded, keeping his hands visible.

He didn't dare look at Emily. Couldn't bear to see her with a knife at her throat.

"Deliver the message." Roberts said. "Then take her to him."

"Why does he want her?" Hotch asked, moving around the table.

Emily hadn't made a sound, was remaining completely quiet, completely calm. Not drawing Roberts' attention to her. Letting Hotch do what he had to do to get her away from him.

Hotch looked at her, then. Saw the calm trust in her eyes.

It nearly staggered him. He knew exactly how precarious the situation actually was. She knew it, too.

God, he couldn't let her down. Not now.

APOCALYPSE ELEVEN

_Adam Michnik said:_

_  
Start doing the things you think should be done, and start being what you think society should become. Do you believe in free speech? Then speak freely. Do you love the truth? Then tell it. Do you believe in an open society? Then act in the open. Do you believe in a decent and humane society? Then behave decently and humanely._

Emily tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible. She knew that if Roberts felt the least little bit of panic, or if she refused to cooperate, or if Hotch miscalculated, he might act first and think second.

She didn't want to be in his range if that happened. Her eyes dropped to the arm around her chest, focusing on the red birthmark on his skin. She'd seen it before.

Seen it as it had reached in front of her and opened the door to the diner. He'd called her ma'am, and smiled at her. Looked interested in her. Then Hotch had spotted her, and she'd focused only on him.

She'd been that close to the UNSUB and hadn't had a clue.

Hotch was pale, his eyes fathomless. Dark. Always so dark she didn't know what he was thinking.

She remembered the first time those eyes had looked at her and she'd wanted to scream at him. When he'd questioned her about her 'political' agenda. She'd been so angry, so ready to just yell at the cold, sanctimonious bastard across the desk from her. It had taken all her will power not to tell him exactly what she thought of him that day.

She remembered how intently those eyes had stared into hers when he'd shown up at her townhouse months later. Telling her he wanted her on the plane to Milwaukee with him.

How she'd wanted to yell at him to get out of her house, her sanctuary. That she was done with the BAU and _him. _

Even though she knew differently.

How those thoughts had changed in the last few weeks. Just _boom! _He'd gone from cold, aloof boss, to something more. Something she wasn't quite sure she could describe.

Something she wasn't ready to describe. But she wanted the chance to describe it when she was.

She caught her breath as the knife grazed her skin, slicing just a little. The knife was unbelievably sharp, and she'd always had an aversion to knives. She arched back slightly, feeling his body pressed against hers. Felt the arousal tightening his body. Fear and adrenaline, most likely. Anticipation.

Heard Hotch's breath catch. Felt the tension increase within the little room. She was aware of Morgan and Allen moving inside the room, Kinsey and Reid blocking the door. Aware of Hotch as he moved ever so closer. Aware of her heart beating erratically, of Roberts body scorching against hers.

Felt her own heart freeze, as she looked into Hotch's eyes. She trusted him, she hoped he knew that.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

"What's the message, Damien?" Hotch asked, hoping to focus the man on him. "What did the judge tell you to do?"

"Tell you…There is never enough time to do everything, but there is always enough time to do the most important thing. Decide what is the important thing." The man intoned. "What is the important thing, Agent Hotchner?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" Hotch asked, moving around the table slightly. "What does the judge say is the most important thing?"

"Cleansing this world of the evil within it, of course."

"What does he want with Emily? There's no evil in Emily." Hotch was three feet from them now. Close enough to touch her. He didn't look at her."What did she do to him?"

"She's done nothing to him. He has something for her." Roberts said. "A present. An amends. He's waiting to give it to her. If I bring her to him, I get to keep her after he gives her the gift."

"And how are you supposed to get her there?" Hotch asked.

Roberts tightened his arm around her neck, and she began to fear he'd asphyxiate her long before he ever slit her throat. _God, she couldn't breathe_! She drew in a gasp, drawing Hotch's eye.

"I'm to take her there. You're to let me. If you don't let me, I'm to kill her, right now." Roberts said, pulling her even tighter against him, the knife sinking a little deeper.

Emily gasped a little louder, her un-bandaged hand tightening on his arm, trying to pull it away from the vulnerable skin of her neck.

"You can't take her to him if you kill her." Hotch said, reasonably. "Pull that knife away from her neck, let her breathe—she can't breathe, she needs to breathe, so we can talk. I'm not too clear on your mission or the judge's message. Don't you want to make sure I know exactly what he meant?"

Roberts thought a moment, before moving the knife an inch away from Emily's neck. Move his arm so she could breathe.

Hotch breathed a sigh of semi-relief. Blood was trickling down her throat, staining her cotton shirt. But that he'd listened to Hotch's instructions was a good sign. Showed that he could be reasoned with.

"What's not clear about it?" Roberts said. "I've done what I was told to do. Is it my fault you can't understand what he meant? I need to go now."

"You can go, Damien. But I can't let you take Emily away. She stays here." Hotch said firmly. "With me."

"No. The judge was very specific. I do not leave here without Emily." He shook his head, loosening his grip on the knife somewhat, pulling it even further from her neck. "She's supposed to see."

Emily didn't think. Her training immediately took hold as he shifted into a better position, and her uninjured hand rose quickly, moving between her neck and the arm holding the blade.

She dropped all her weight, sliding down to the floor as quickly as she could. Freeing up a line of sight for those with their weapons trained on the man. Until Hotch moved into their line.

Hotch saw her move and as soon as she was clear of the knife he lashed out. One hand grabbed the man's knife hand, strong fingers wrapping around Roberts' wrist. He slammed the man's hand into the concrete wall repeatedly until he heard the sound of bone cracking, and the knife hitting the floor.

He pulled Roberts up, jerked him around and slammed him face down on the table. Morgan moved in to cuff him, while Reid ran to Emily, helping her to stand.

"I'm alright." She said, gingerly holding her hand to the small trickle of blood dripping down onto her shirt. "I'm fine. It's not very deep."

Hotch moved to her, reaching up to pull her hand away. To see for himself. "This is getting to be a habit."

"Sorry about that, sir." Her lips twitched, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her closer and hold her tight. "I've always wanted a life of adventure."

"You're giving me gray hair." He said drolly.

"Ah, but some people think gray hair is distinguished." Emily said, severely, as Roberts was led out of the room in cuffs. "This has been one hell of a case."

"And it's not over yet." Hotch said. "We need to find Holmes, and this judge. Find out what he meant by an amends."

"We need to do a profile, using all the information we have." Emily said, following him out of the interrogation room and into the bullpen. JJ and Garcia waited anxiously, and both hugged her as soon as they saw her.

Everyone waited while Detective Kinsey applied antiseptic to the shallow cut on Emily's neck, covering it with a butterfly bandage. It wouldn't need a stitch, so she was lucky. This time.

Hotch could still feel the fear and adrenaline flooding his body, as he sat, watching her as she perched on the corner of Detective Kinsey's desk. He could see the faint shivers running her body, and he knew she was crashing down, too.

This case had more than made it abundantly clear how vital she actually was to the team—but more importantly, how much she mattered to him.

When this case was over, they'd be having a serious talk. Get everything between them out in the open. And go from there.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

"What do we know?" Hotch demanded of the six people arranged around the large conference table.

"UNSUB one, Thomas Corison, felt betrayed by both Libstein and Maxwell, Maxwell, and Teague. Lost a total of two hundred thousand dollars in his suit and in bad investments. Only thing he had remaining was the building on the corner of Jackson and Nineteenth." Morgan began. "He was responsible for the nine deaths by poisoning. He also carried a white enameled knife."

"Damien Roberts, UNSUB number two," Emily began, "Reporter for the _Nortan Chronicle_, has lived in the area for five years. Garcia found that he'd been let go from his last position because of workplace rage and for forming a stalking obsession about a co-worker. Has borderline personality disorder as well as bi-polar indicators. He is disorganized, and a rage killer. He was responsible for three stabbing deaths, and carried a red-handled knife." The knife Hotch had knocked out of the man's hand had matched the stab wounds perfectly. "He's a cousin of Officer Phillip Holmes."

"Holmes is the weakest of the UNSUBS. He's a recent addition to the police force." Reid began. "He's quiet, but full of rage. He's enamored of the older UNSUBS, seeing the Judge as the ultimate voice in all things. He probably followed Roberts into this, and he most likely is the one responsible for the twelve victims found manacled in Corison's building. He found these people, and just left them. His crime has a higher level of pure sadism than the others. I'd say that though he isn't the most noticeable of the UNSUBS, he's probably the most dangerous. He is pleasured by the suffering of so many people. I believe his motivations are not some idea of an Apocalyptic rapture. The judge and his beliefs are just a convenient outlet."

"The judge is the least clear. We know nothing about him." Hotch began, resting his elbows on the table as he spoke. "Just what we can get from public records. Garcia's searching for whatever she can find. We know he was married, but divorced six months ago. No children, most likely because he's impotent. He has a deep-rooted need to be in control. Hence, the profession, and now the organizing of this small gang of killers. Where did he find these men? My guess would be in an official capacity. Corison was arrested and seen by Coulier two months ago. Roberts reported on the case, and Holmes was the arresting officer. Something during that trial triggered all of this. The possibility exists that though they are trying to mirror the legend of the four Horsemen, that Coulier is—like Holmes—using it as an excuse for his actions. He may not have actually killed anyone—but has been a full party to most—if not all—of the other UNSUBS murders."

"Why these people?" Kinsey asked, looking at the pictures of the twenty-four bodies, ranging in age from around eleven to sixty-three.

"Holmes often did prison transfers for us." Allen said. "It was grunt work for bad attitude and insubordination. A way to get him out of my hair."

"It's possible he was picking people up, offering them a 'safe' ride to the southern part of the state. No one would think twice about accepting a ride from a police officer." Reid said. "He took them to Corison's building and just left them to die."

"But I still don't understand their motivation behind all this." Kinsey admitted from her seat beside the doctor. "_Why _kill two dozen people?"

"A mix of a mission type killing spree and flat out sociopathy. A group of four UNSUBS killing on this level, in this manner is more than exceedingly rare. It's almost unheard of." Reid said. "The best explanation is, that they get pleasure from the murders, no matter what the individual motivations are. They feed off of each other's desires. Symbiotic."

"We need an address on this judge." Hotch said, "Garcia."

"Way ahead of you, oh handsome leader," the blonde said. "2234 W. Palm Chester Way, Nortan Springs, California."

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

No one answered the door, and Hotch gave the nod. The door was kicked open and they rushed the door.

Morgan heard Hotch's orders through the mike and he kicked the back door open as well. He, Reid, and Emily rushed in, Emily last.

They met up with Hotch's team in a formal parlor. "Anything?"

"No, man. No sign of anyone having been here within the last few hours." Morgan answered.

"Coulier owns the six acres behind the property." Garcia's voice piped through everyone's earpieces. "Aerial maps show a wooden structure in the lower western quadrant."

"Thanks, Garcia."

"No problem, Superman. Ms. Invisible over and out!"

"Let's move." Hotch ordered, "Reid, Kinsey, I want you two to head along the back perimeter. Morgan, Prentiss, you'll come down the center. Allen and I'll head opposite Reid and Kinsey. Go in quietly. And be alert. We don't know what he's got rigged up."

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch gave the signal for Morgan to open the barn door. Morgan always went first, Morgan and Hotch. Protecting the ones who came after. It was just the way it was. Just like when she was out with Reid or JJ—she went first.

It was always hard watching them enter, not knowing what they'd find. Always. But she dealt, the whole team did.

The barn was dark, but a strange light emanated from a back stall. Hotch and Morgan were the first to peer inside.

"Clear!" Morgan yelled, as Hotch rushed deeper into the stall, before rushing behind Hotch.

"Get a medic!" Hotch called back to Detective Allen.

Emily rushed into the stall. She recognized the man bound and bloody, with a green-handled knife sticking from between his ribs. Former Chief of Police Scott Palmers had been beaten and stabbed, hands bound behind his back.

Emily barely recognized him. She backed out of the stall, not wanting to crowd Hotch, Morgan, Reid, or Allen as they made sure the man stayed alive long enough to get to the hospital.

She moved to wait by the door, next to Detective Kinsey. The two women stood, not talking for a moment, weapons down.

"Palmers?" Kinsey asked, rhetorically. "Why him?"

"I don't know." Emily admitted. "We'll have to wait until he wakes."

"If he wakes." Kinsey said. "I've never seen anything like this. How do you do it? Deal with this kind of crazy shit all the time?"

"Compartmentalize. Block off what we can't deal with, so that we can deal with what we have to. Stopping these guys is everything. Its never easy."

"So how are we going to find this guy?" Kinsey said. "How will we know where to look?"

"Just look behind you!" A male voice said from the shadows behind the younger woman, as a wooden board slammed into her head.

Detective Kinsey went down hard, landing at Emily's feet, as a man stepped from the shadows. He held Palmers service weapon pointed straight at Emily's head.

Emily hadn't seen him. None of the agents had.

The men rushed from the stall and Palmers, stopping short when they caught the tableau in front of them. Reid shouted for the fallen detective. They all recognized the man from the pictures Garcia had provided earlier.

And he had a weapon pointed right at Emily.

"Judge Coulier." Hotch said, aiming his own weapon at the other man. "Put the weapon down."

"I wanted to ensure you got my gift, SSA Prentiss." The man ignored Hotch, focusing instead on the woman in front of him. He didn't even acknowledge Kinsey's presence at his feet. No one existed for him but Emily. "Did you like it?"

"Your gift?" Emily asked, eyes trained on him. "I don't understand."

"That fool Roberts was supposed to tell you I had a gift for you." Anger tightened his jaw and Emily backed up a step. She could see Morgan and Reid on her left side, and Hotch and Allen on the right. All had weapons pointed at the judge.

"I understand that," Emily said, in a soothing tone. "What I don't understand was the significance behind your message. Roberts forgot what he was supposed to tell me."

"Fool." He practically spat the word, hand tightening around the grip. "All that he was supposed to do was tell you and your team that we are on the same side."

"Sides?" Emily asked. She forced her eyes to remain on Coulier, even though she sensed Kinsey stirring on the ground between them. "What sides?"

"Getting bastards like the trash at Libstein and Associates, or those worthless shits begging for rides up the coast. Trash. Clutter. I see them everyday, you know. Coming in my courtroom with the my mommy caused me to do it, or I was drunk so I shouldn't have to pay excuses. What they don't realize is that I am a _judge. _The Judge. I measure their actions and decide whether they are guilty or not. And then what do I see—the same people coming through my court again. And again."

"So you found Roberts, Corison, and Holmes. To help you rid the streets of these people?" Emily asked, understanding that they had been wrong. Coulier _did _believe his rhetoric. He was a classic mission killer. He'd just brainwashed others into doing the killing for him. "Why did they agree to help you? How did you all start this?"

"They understood when I got angry in court. Understood that these bastards should pay for what they've done. Face the ultimate judgment. They liked it, wanted to see that others got the judgments they deserved, too." Coulier stepped closer, stopping just short of the young woman on the ground in front of him. "Corison, he wanted those filthy scum who'd stolen his money to pay. He'd worked hard for that money, and what did they leave him with—absolutely nothing. And when he sued—still more nothing. And Roberts, he didn't care. He just wanted someone to show him the way. Those women—they were whores. But they turned him down, turned down a good man like him. So he killed them—I told him he should have brought them to me for their judgment but he didn't. Stupid. "

"Why did you pick Palmers?" Emily demanded.

He paused before answering, the gun still pointed at Emily. Her hands remained out where he could see them, though her weapon was clutched in her left. He dropped his gaze to Kinsey, who was moving slightly. He pulled back a foot and kicked the woman square in the ribs, and she fell back down, gasping for breath.

Emily's own breath caught as she heard the young woman gasping. The rattle she made was distinctive—he'd punctured her lung. They had to get her help and fast.

"Palmers defied all that was holy. The system that is in place is designed to rid the world of that kind of scum. Yet that scum was in a position of authority. Holmes showed me the tape of what he did to you. How he'd tried to hurt you and your little blonde friend. I saw how you protected your friend, with no thought about yourself—and I knew _you, _at least, would understand."

"I do understand. But that girl at your feet, she understands, too. And she needs help. Why don't you lower the gun and let me help her?" Emily's voice was slightly pleading. She knew this was going down only one way. She was just waiting for the right moment. For the signal. "She's a good girl, a good cop. Did you know she's moving to Washington next month—to help her elderly aunt? She's going to take care of her. Sacrifice her career to help someone in need. Her aunt needs her—and Kinsey needs help. Can you put the gun down so I can help her?"

"I'm not putting the gun down, Emily." He said, "I have to render the final judgment. We deserve our reward, you and me. I've already given Phillip his."

"Where is Phillip?" Emily asked.

"Out back. I gave him his judgment. I have severed the wicked from the just. I took Palmers far away from you. And Phillip—he had so much potential but his views of the judgment—they were skewed. Perverted. It didn't matter who was the right and just and who wasn't. He just wanted to kill. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that. But you and I, Emily, we'll be going to our reward. They will be in the fire. But we, we will be in the heavens."

Emily watched in slow motion as his finger began to tighten on the trigger. Heard Hotch's call for her to _get down! _But she was already moving.

She fell to the side, as close to Detective Kinsey as she could get. Covered the younger woman with her body, as the bullets rained around them. Kept the younger woman from possibly moving into the line of fire.

Not that it mattered—Kinsey was unconscious.

The body of Judge Walter Coulier landed on Emily's left leg and Kinsey's right. His blood stained their pants, and the hay that lay beneath them.

Nanoseconds passed before strong hands wrapped around Emily and pulled her from Kinsey. Soon she was being held close to a familiar chest, covered in thick Kevlar. Aaron's hand was tangled in her hair, holding her as tightly as he could, as the medics rushed around—first to Kinsey and then Palmers. Spencer stayed close to the young woman, as she was loaded onto a gurney, his bony fingers wrapped around her much smaller hand. She was hurriedly wheeled out of the barn and to the waiting ambulance, seconds in front of Scott Palmers.

In the midst of the confusion, Emily closed her eyes and lay her head on Hotch's shoulders. Corison was dead, Roberts was in jail. Holmes' body was most likely somewhere on the property, and the ME was leaning over Judge Coulier, pronouncing the man dead.

Twenty-four dead victims. Four dead UNSUBS. Emily injured, Spencer injured, Max Kinsey injured—Scott Palmers injured.

But it was finally over. And time for the BAU to move on.

APOCALYPSE OVER

Emily couldn't find her other bottle of shampoo. She always carried two, one half full and one completely full, in her ready bag, but she couldn't find the one she'd used the day before. It wasn't in the small bathroom, nor was it under any of the furniture.

It was like it had disappeared. She was packing for the return trip to Washington in the morning and she'd need her shampoo. The plane left early so everyone was getting ready before heading to sleep.

But Emily's damned shampoo was missing.

JJ's impatient knock sounded, reminding Emily that she needed to get in gear. Morning came early and she wasn't the only one who needed the bathroom.

The only answer she could come with was that it had gotten mixed in with JJ or Garcia's things by mistake. She'd have to ask later, but in the meantime—it was just a bottle of shampoo.

It wasn't like anybody would have stolen it.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Nobody made any pretense that Emily would be sleeping anywhere but beside Hotch. Not tonight. Spencer had yet to return to the room, still being at the hospital with Detective Kinsey. She'd suffered a pretty serious concussion and a collapsed lung. Spencer had actually requested a few personal days off to stay with her. Help her until she got back on her feet. Hotch had told him he had plenty of time, and to stay. He'd work it out with paperwork when he got back to Washington.

Palmers was in the same hospital. He'd eventually be ok physically. Detective Allen had been named as sheriff-pro-temp until the city elections later in the year.

Good changes were occurring rapidly in Nortan Springs.

Emily sat on the pullout while everyone else took turns showering. Nobody talked about the case. Or what all had happened to Emily. Never had she had a case that revolved around her the way this one had, and she just wasn't ready to discuss it.

She just wanted to relax and watch a movie on Garcia's laptop. The woman had great graphics. She found one on Netflix and added it to her instant account, pulling the computer to rest on her knees. Her headphones drowned out the sounds of everyone else moving about.

She needed whatever privacy she could get—and the team all seemed to understand that. She was engrossed in the movie when she felt the bed dip.

Hotch was finished with his shower. He was clean, slightly woodsy-scented, dressed in navy sweats and an FBI tee. His hair was actually mussed, water beads gleaming in the light.

He didn't try to say anything, just wrapped his arm around his pillow and stretched his long legs out over the covers. He had a very athletic body that the sweats showed to perfection. He lay there silently beside her while she finished her movie.

JJ and Garcia were soon asleep, Morgan following shortly after. Everyone was completely exhausted. Including Emily.

She took off the headphones, replaced Garcia's computer on the desk and turned toward the pullout with a soft sigh.

"You ok?" Hotch asked, as she nervously slid under the covers.

"I will be."

"You want to talk about it?" He slipped under the blankets beside her, no pretense of keeping the sheet between them. They didn't talk about it, it just was.

"I know about obsessions. I know about fanaticism. Sociopathy, and mission killers." She sighed, as she unconsciously arranged herself closer to him. "But seeing them feeding off each other the way fleas do a dog. I don't know, Hotch."

"And to have two of the four men focused on _you_?" He asked softly. He trailed his fingers up her spine lazily. Unconsciously. "Made you feel vulnerable, less confident as an agent? Dependent on me and the team for the first time?"

"Needy." Emily admitted. "I hate being needy and dependent. Doubting myself. I was raised never to show my doubts. I didn't like this."

"And this case has been nothing but doubts." He stated. "Part of that—a big part of that—is my fault."

"Yes, in a way." She said, not sure she wanted to have this conversation _now. _"You didn't like me, Hotch. When I first came to the BAU. And quite frankly—I couldn't stand you. No matter what I tried, you were cold and cutting."

"So you stopped trying." He said, hand tightening around her waist. "I can understand that."

"Yes. But then you began to respect me as an agent. So it got better. I respected you professionally, admired you as a leader. But as a friend—I _still _don't know you. And it takes a lot for me to let someone in for friendship."

"And a whole lot more for something romantic. I understand." He told her.

"Yes." She admitted frankly. "I'm not sure what your motives are. What you want from me. I can't read you, never could. Not like Morgan or JJ or Spencer. It scares me when I can't read someone."

"I scare you."

"Terrify me. I'm not sure I even want to think about doing this." She waved a hand to encompass their intertwined bodies. "And my God, you've only been divorced for a few months. It's way too soon—for you especially. How can you know you want this?"

"I've given it a lot of thought. Side effect of being a profiler."

"Self-profiling never works for me, Hotch." Her head rested on his chest, speaking to her wants much more than her words did. Told him how conflicted she actually was. "I do know one thing. I've worked hard to get into the BAU. And I know that Strauss pulled strings to get me here. And I'm sorry for that."

"I'm not. You're right where you belong." He meant what he said. She was a vital part of his team, and he couldn't imagine her not there to fill that spot. "Regardless of how you got there. I needed you, someone to shake things up."

"I almost hated you, Hotch. For quite a while. I was ready to quit before the Joseph Smith case. Because of Strauss because of the great Hotch-freeze, all of it."

"I'm sorry I was such a cold bastard. Politics had made me distrustful."

"And you'd do whatever it takes to protect your team." She added.

"Like you would. Just look at how you stepped in front of JJ with Palmers. How you covered Kinsey tonight. Without thought. You just did."

"I don't want to lose my place with the BAU, Hotch. I've worked hard to get here. Sacrificed."

"You won't ever lose your place, Emily." He promised softly. "No matter what happens—or doesn't—between us. I promise you that."

"Frankly, I don't even know anything about you. Not really. We don't know if we share the same interests, the same movies. Politics."

"So we need to get to know each other?" He asked.

"Funny as it sounds, yes." She said. "And I need some time to think. Think all this through."

"I can understand that. And I can give you time." He agreed, pulling her to lie flush against his side. "But be prepared, I'm determined. I'll do whatever I have to to influence your decision."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Emily said, raising her knee to rest over his thigh.

"I'll give you fourteen days, Emily. To make up your mind. Then we'll go from there."

"Fourteen days." She agreed as she drifted into a peaceful sleep, curled up there on his chest, as if sleeping beside her boss was the most natural thing in the world.

He waited until he knew she was completely out before dropping a kiss on her forehead. He gently pulled the hand encased in an air cast over his chest, laying it to rest over his heart. His one hand splayed over her back, the thin cotton of that red tank top the only thing separating his hand from her flesh. His other hand moved beneath the covers and rested against the curve of her ass, pulling her even closer to his body.

He buried his face in the soft curls tickling his chin and whispered, "I'll give you fourteen days, and then it'll all change between us."


	14. Chapter 15

SUPER HERO FAMILY

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW: SOMETIME DURING LATE JUNE 2008

Emily must have been haunting the hotel again, Spencer thought as he entered the hotel lobby. The six of them—he, Garcia, Emily, JJ, Hotch, and Morgan—had all been crammed into an incredibly small, incredibly hot hotel room. He and Derek had been crammed together in a small bed and the three women were even closer together in the larger double. Hotch took the pull out couch, though it was big enough for two--and somehow Emily kept ending up with him. It wasn't making a comfortable night for anyone. He'd woken and found one of the women missing.

Spencer found her sleeping in a ratty chair in the hotel's central lobby. This wasn't the best of hotels, so he couldn't just leave her there. Not tonight, not after what had happened.

He'd killed a man today. Killed him to keep him from killing Emily.

It should have been _him _in the caved in building, prey to a killer, not Emily. He'd been the closest to the suspect when the guy had ran, ran right past Emily.

Spencer had hesitated—he wasn't the athletic one, the one who chased the bad guy and pulled him down.

That was Morgan.

He wasn't the cool, collected ones—the ones who did whatever had to be done without a sweat, without a thought, without a problem. That was Emily and Hotch.

He was the brain, the computer, the encyclopedia. The pipe cleaner with eyes and a gun.

He was Spencer.

He'd frozen, for an instant. Long enough for Emily to get a head start on him. For her to be in pursuit of that son of a bitch.

For her to be the one on the roof of that third story building when it collapsed. For her the one to be unconscious in the rubble with a fanatical killer standing over her.

He'd watched his colleague, his friend, watched her fall right before his eyes. He'd peered over the edge and seen her laying ten feet below him with rubble and dust swirling all around, unconscious and bloody.

But the UNSUB wasn't injured, he'd barely looked scratched. And he was standing over Emily, pulling a knife from his ragged jeans.

Then Spencer hadn't hesitated. He'd pulled his weapon and identified himself, but the man had persisted. He'd bent down, grabbed Emily by the hair.

Wrapped his fist in the long brown locks that Spencer knew normally smelled of strawberry shampoo. The knife had lowered, getting closer to her throat.

And Spencer fired. Three times. Just like Hotch had taught him to do. Then he climbed—fell—down the ten feet to get to Emily. He'd wrenched his shoulder, but he considered it a fair price to pay. So he didn't complain.

He didn't regret taking that shot. But he'd always regret that he wasn't a second faster in chasing the bastard. It should have been him.

But now here he stood, staring down at his sleeping friend, eyes scanning her pale face, taking in the two loose braids her hair had been woven into—most likely by Garcia.

He couldn't really see Emily choosing to wear school-girl braids, although they did make her look younger. With her eyes closed, Emily lost the intensity that fueled her, making Spencer aware that maybe she was vulnerable after all.

He'd never seen Emily Prentiss vulnerable—with the exception of the Joseph Smith case, and the whack she'd taken with a 2 X 4. But that didn't count because she'd still managed to give the signal for the rest of the team to get the guy.

Emily Prentiss was like one of those comic book characters he'd read about as a child. Always strong, always doing what's right, always standing up for the innocent.

But tonight she sat, vulnerable, in a hotel that wasn't all that safe. So Spencer Reid paid his penance, and sat with her.

Garcia found him there an hour later, sitting and staring at Prentiss as if she was a magic bean ready to sprout. "Hey handsome, the crowd in the room got a little thin so I thought I'd come find two of my favorite people."

"Hey, Garcia." Spencer really didn't feel like talking.

"She ok?"

"Sleeping. Probably from the medication." Spencer said.

"Good, my little chickadee needs to sleep. I have a feeling she doesn't get enough. Why aren't you out? That shoulder has to hurt."

"I, uh, didn't want to take anything. I'm really struggling, Garcia." Spencer admitted freely, knowing his confidence wouldn't go any further.

There were two people—maybe three, if he counted Hotch—whom he knew he could be absolutely frank with, and two of them were right in the room with him.

"The case? Or is it something more, my handsome gray matter?"

"I hesitated."

"What?" Garcia asked, "You took the shot. Everyone agreed it was a good shoot."

"He, uh, ran right by me. And I could have taken him down. But I hesitated and Emily ran after him. It should have been me that fell through the ceiling, Garcia."

"Nonsense. Things happen for a reason, Spencer Reid. And I saw the roof's security tape. You did not hesitate, not that I could see, and not when it mattered. You saved her life."

"It shouldn't have been her. _I'm_ the one who always needs saving, Garcia. Never her. It shouldn't have been her. It wouldn't have been her but for me. I can't forget that."

"I think she probably has." Garcia said, wisely. "She's probably grateful you weren't the one who fell through that roof. They said she was lucky—had she weighed anymore she might have broken through those beams she landed on. _You _would have. It would have been much worse for you, Spence. Do you honestly think that would have been better for Emily to see? You know how much she cares about you—and Emily Prentiss is nothing if not protective of those she cares about."

"I've never seen her vulnerable like that. Unconscious. I was certain she was dead, but inside I knew that wasn't possible."

"She's human, Reid. We all are." Garcia paused, "Although, she does look a bit like Wonder Woman with the hair."

"But not the costume, or the lasso of truth. I can see Emily saying 'the only thing that can surpass our superior strength is our brain,' but I can't imagine her wearing that costume." Spencer laughed softly.

"You know what, sugar. Whenever I see you guys, watch you work, hear you talk, see what you actually do. I think of Super Heroes. My own little Justice League. What you all do is extraordinary. But no one of you is more super than the others. Emily would have done the exact same thing no matter how you replay the situation in your head, even if she knew what would have happened. Just to keep you safe."

"But I've never seen her like that. She was so still."

"I may not be a profiler, gorgeous, but I can honestly say you can't admit she's human because you see her as larger than life, as a sort of mother or big sister figure. Someone who knows the answers to things, someone who cares for you. Children can never admit their parents are weak—in any way. That's why you're so upset."

"Do I think of her in a motherly fashion?" Spencer asked, "I've never really thought about it."

"Do. She tells you the truth, doesn't she? Coddles you when you need it—I've seen her do it to both you and JJ—protects you, does little things to make things easier. Emily needs somebody to fuss over, and you and JJ provide that for her. So she wins, too."

"It is hard, to see her this way. I've never seen her or Hotch hurt or hurting like that. I've seen Rossi, Gideon, even Morgan—but never Emily or Hotch."

"Like I said, kids don't like to admit that Mommy and Daddy are weak at times, too."

"That sounds so wrong. I'm twenty seven years old, Garcia. And they're my colleagues." Spencer protested, though he knew the non-profiler had nailed his views perfectly.

"Umm. But we have formed a family, kiddo. Just look at us. We have Morgan who makes a great big brother, JJ is the sweet sister who everybody absolutely loves, Rossi's like the mysterious uncle who has done literally everything. You're the little brother we love and admire, and have to tease and protect because that's what siblings do. I'm somewhere in the middle, the goofy one who makes you all smile. The class clown, the jokester whom everyone knows not to take too seriously. That leaves the parents—who's job it is to take care of us. And they do it unthinkingly, like parents should. I'll admit, it is hard for us to see them as vulnerable. They are—but they're also incredibly strong. Superman and Wonder Woman."

"So we're a family of super heroes?" Spencer laughed, his mind replaying all the comic books he'd ever read. "If she's Wonder Woman and Hotch is Superman, what about the rest of us?"

"Honey, I've figured it all out. JJ, of course, is the Blonde Bombshell—the Black Canary who uses her voice to mystify, Derek is the sexiest superhero, aka Batman. Rossi's Captain Marvel because he's just seen so much, and me—I'm the Invisible Woman. Because all my work is done when no one can see me." Penelope smirked at the younger man beside her. Wonder Woman still hadn't woken.

"And me?" Spencer was almost afraid to ask where he fit in this family of super heroes.

"Sugar, you're the best of the lot—you're Mr. Fantastic."

"Dr. Reed Richards." Reid had to laugh. "Tall and stretchy?"

"And a super genius. Not exactly a big jump, is it." Garcia grinned. "Now we should probably get back to the hotel room. Before Daddy realizes we've ran away with Mommy."

"True, but how we going to get Wonder Woman back to the room? I can't exactly be Mr. Fantastic and manfully carry her." He motioned to the sling around his hand and shoulder.

"I guess we'll just have to call Superman or Batman to come get her." Garcia winked. "But my money's on Superman flying to the rescue."

"You've seen it, too?"

"What, the way Daddy's been watching Mommy lately?" Garcia's laugh was low and maniacal.

"I thought I was the only one who saw it." Spencer admitted, "I thought I was just seeing things—I'm not too good about the relationship stuff."

"Honey, everyone's caught on—and no two are more confused about their relationship stuff than Superman and Wonder Woman themselves."

"What the hell you two talkin about at three in the morning?" A sleepy, rumpled Derek asked as he came into the lobby. Half the team had been missing and he'd gotten concerned.

"Super heroes. And families, stud muffin. What are you doin up?" She had to admit he looked pretty good all sleepy eyed and cuddly, even though she was immensely loyal to Kevin. A girl could look as long as she had eyes, after all.

"Worried. You three disappeared."

"We were just debating how to get Wonder Woman here back to the room without waking her up. Mr. Fantastic is out of commission in the carrying department. You up to it, Batman?"

"Carry a pretty lady to a hotel room?" He teased. "My momma raised me better than that."

"Make an exception." Garcia ordered. "Or I'll email your momma a picture of you with that 'Halloween' honey you met last year—photoshopped into a nice tux and gown."

"You are a wicked, wicked woman." Derek said as he moved to pick the sleeping dark haired woman up. "I think we need to feed Prentiss a little more."

"She is a bit skinny, isn't she?" Reid asked. He didn't fully understand the looks of irony the two shot his way. "You don't really notice until she's not actually moving."

His mind shot back to the roof, shot back to seeing her lying so still in the arms of a killer. He ruthlessly pushed the image away.

They entered the small, hellish hotel room as quietly as they could, Morgan carrying his precious bundle. He stopped between the two beds and looked down at JJ sleeping so peacefully then looked at Garcia as she climbed in the bed on the other side. They were going to be hopelessly crowded in that bed. A pregnant JJ and a wounded Emily, at least, needed a decent night's sleep. "You know, Hotch has all that wasted room. Shame we can't make use of it."

"I say we do." Garcia said, enthusiastically, even though she whispered.

"I don't know, guys, who knows what they'll think when they wake up." Reid said, nervously. "It's one thing for her to sleep there of her own free will, but for us to just _put _her there...that's different."

"Just do it and go to bed, Derek. It's late," JJ mumbled from her spot, as Spencer retreated to the bathroom. They hadn't even realized she was awake.

"Ok," Derek mentally shrugged as Garcia reached over and pulled the cover back, revealing Hotch's FBI issue t-shirt. Even in his sleep he broadcasted his occupation. Derek lowered the woman onto the pullout mattress, arranging her head on half of the other man's pillow. He had to admit they looked good together. Strange it had taken everyone so long to notice.

He turned to head back to his own bed when a quiet male voice stopped him. It was so quiet he doubted anyone else had heard it. "I see you found her. Thanks, Derek."

"Anytime, Hotch. Good night."

Spencer came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, having taken a shower to relieve some of the heat. Everyone was sound asleep as he stretched out on the floor beside the pullout couch, near to Emily.

He'd stay close in case she needed to haunt the hotel again before morning. It was what Super Heroes did—protecting the vulnerable.

Even Superman and Wonder Woman had their weaknesses, he thought as he looked at the two older agents snuggled tight to each other—he just wondered if they knew what theirs were.

He did. And he kind of liked where he fit in the grander scheme of their strange little family. Their own Justice League.

He rather liked that image.

CONVERSATION

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW; LATE JUNE 2008

JJ was stretched out on the bed with a can of Sprite and the crackers Garcia had found in the vending machine. She felt horrible, weak, ashamed, and so damned grateful to be out of that police station.

Palmers and his crew were horrible, disgusting sexist pigs.

They'd dared to put their hands on her and all her training, both FBI and Media Relations, had flown right out the window. Emily had stepped in, protective like always, drawing the men's fire, their attention.

But the comments still came, the accusations that they'd slept with their teammates. The accusations that they were easy. The demands for attention of the same kind.

Then Palmers had grabbed Emily, jerked her up close to him. Told her if she didn't want the attention don't wear the kind of clothes she'd had on yesterday. Told Emily he'd been able to see right down her shirt, and he'd liked what he saw. Told her she should be flattered at all the attention.

Told them they'd need to learn how to live in a man's world if they wanted to play at a man's game. Emily's knee had gotten him just short of his groin and her threat not to miss the next time had sunken in.

He'd released Emily so fast she'd nearly fallen. Threatened her that it wasn't over between them.

JJ'd known he'd meant it. He'd actually scared her—more than anything save Hinkle's dogs—more than she'd been scared while on the job.

And this was while they were standing in the middle of the police station.

"That was intense, wasn't it, little momma?"

"My aim is getting better." JJ admitted, thinking of the vomit on Palmers' shoes.

"So you did aim for his shoes. Good girl."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean to make things worse for Emily. And then we left her there."

"I have a feeling Superman is watching out for Wonder Woman."

"Wow. Did you see how intense he was?" JJ said, her awe in her voice. "I thought he was going to rip into whomever had dared touch Emily and shred him."

"But Emily tamed the beast." Garcia said, thinking. "JJ, do you think _Hayley_ ever tamed that particular beast?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hotch is damned intense. Albeit in a sexy, alpha type of way. A cold way, I'd guess. Wouldn't he be hard to live with?"

"I'd guess so. I've never really thought about it." JJ admitted. "I think—from what I've seen and heard—that Hayley expected him to be like Ward Cleaver when he was home. Leave the office at five o'clock and forget all about what we do. Lord knows we can't really do that, can we?"

"No, baby jellybean, we can't." Garcia agreed. "That's why I think this thing between Emily and Hotch is kind of…well, terrifying. Intense."

"The way he watches her?"

"That way he stares at her. The way they seem drawn to each other. They're damned magnets. He wasn't like that three weeks ago. I wonder what changed?"

"Will said he found Emily crying at the hospital. Alone in the chapel. Said he told Hotch. Since then, Hotch's been hyper vigilant where Emily's concerned." JJ said. "You think something happened between them?"

"Yep." Garcia said, giving it some thought. "Just like I think something more happened last night then she let on."

"Never thought I'd ever see Emily that flustered—over a man, no less." JJ laughed. Emily's cool was one of the things she envied and admired about her friend.

"Over _Hotch_!" Garcia laughed. "I wonder if Reid or Morgan's seen what's going on?"

"Can you imagine what signals they'd be giving off if _Reid _figured it out?" JJ asked, laughing until her stomach whirled.

"Maybe she should just do her Mr. Right, already." Garcia said, referring to the vague description she'd dragged out of Emily less than a month ago. Her Mr. Right had sounded just like Hotch—and she hadn't been aware of it—until JJ had pointed it out.

Looks like Emily was gonna get her Mr. Right, and sometime soon, too. Goody for her, Garcia thought as her cell phone beeped and a gorgeous voice sounded over the speaker. "Hey you, sexy thing. I have a request that only you can fulfill."

"Bring it on, sugar, I'm ready for whatever you can dish out!" She just hoped Emily was ready for Hotch.

ROSSI'S READY

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW:

LATE JUNE 2008

David Rossi was ready to go back to work. He'd had enough of convalescing. He needed to be doing something, something more worthwhile then sitting on the porch with Mudgie and rotting away.

David Rossi wasn't old enough to be put out to pasture just yet.

Rossi sat in the living room, files spread before him, nightly news on in the background. Erin Strauss had called him, asking for a huge favor.

She wanted his input on a new BAU team. She wanted him to head it up for a few weeks once he returned to full duty. Wanted him to make sure the team would be equally as effective as Hotch's team, wanted to make sure they'd have a wide variety of individuals with specialized backgrounds to make them an ultimate profiling force.

Because Hotch's team was just flat out getting too busy to handle all the cases sent their way, and the two other BAU teams just weren't that good. That was part of the favor Strauss had asked as well. Rossi had been asked to reevaluate all the BAU teams' personnel records, and redistribute teams B, C, and the new D, to better balance the individuals.

Team A, Hotchner's team, was being left exactly as it was. Strauss was more than content to leave Aaron Hotchner in his little niche for the rest of his days as an agent, and his people with him. Rossi knew Hotchner was more than happy with that.

Rossi couldn't blame him. Hotch had the job he'd worked hard for, the teammates he respected—and for the most part, handpicked, and access to the woman he wanted above all else. Ironically, the one team member he hadn't hand-picked.

If Hotchner had figured out just what he _wanted _to do with Emily Prentiss, yet. Rossi knew what he'd be doing with her if it was him in Aaron's shoes.

Maybe that was why he had three ex-wives and Hotchner only had one.

Still, Emily Prentiss was one hell of a woman. Too bad Hotch had met her first.

The TV blipped an announcement and he looked at it out of habit. That woman reporter who never stopped dramatizing suddenly appeared on the screen, "We are now bringing you coverage from Southern California where the members of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit are holding a conference in regards to the suspected killers of twenty-four innocent people."

At the words _behavioral analysis unit _Rossi's attention sharpened. He turned the volume up when he saw the familiar face of the pretty media liaison filling the screen. Listened as she described why the BAU was there today.

Watched as she turned the conference over to another agent. A dark-haired, dark-eyed lady who had visited nearly every day she'd been able to while he'd been in the hospital.

His eyes immediately landed on the white bandages. At the right hand in an air cast.

What the hell had happened to Emily? She looked young, beautiful, and vulnerable, and he wondered what Hotch must have been thinking. What was he trying to achieve?

He listened as Emily described the UNSUBS, one disorganized and asocial typology, the other a submissive. Watched as she fielded questions from one man in particular.

Watched her brown eyes flash worriedly, momentarily toward

someone who must have been behind the cameras.

Some of the questions froze Rossi's blood, then heated his temper. "Rumor has it he had a knife to your throat and nearly killed you. Do you care to comment on how he died?"

Sounded like it had been bad. But he was reassured by the way she looked before his eyes. She'd curled her hair, he always liked it when she curled her hair.

He had a sneaking suspicion Hotch liked it curled, too.

For someone unacquainted with Emily, the signal she sent to the blonde beside her would have been missed.

But Dave Rossi had spent a lot of plane rides studying the nuances of the younger woman's expressions, trying to peg just who she was.

He still wasn't sure. But he'd knew enough to recognize the tensing of her lips just the little bit, followed by an almost unnoticeable gesture for JJ to skedaddle. Which the little blonde did.

Rossi's body tensed instinctively. Even through the glass tube he was attuned to his teammates. He knew Emily was expecting something to go down—and she wanted pregnant, vulnerable Jareau out of the line of fire.

Hotch appeared on screen, cold and inscrutable like always. He leaned toward Emily and she leaned toward him, instinctive, like to dark-eyed halves of a whole.

Another question was thrown out over the speakers, and Rossi tensed again. "Just one more question—wasn't it true Palmers was arrested after physically assaulting _you _and making sexual threats?"

_What the hell? _ Emily had been attacked? Rossi pulled out his cell phone, ready to dial someone who could update him on what was going on. His finger hovered over the button that would link him directly with the technical analyst, Garcia. She always knew what was going down. And was the one most likely not to be at the press conference with the rest of the team.

Rossi paused a moment as movement showed at the bottom of his screen, just behind the flashing tipline number. Morgan posed, looking dark and intimidating in black Ray Bans and black fatigues. Rossi knew by looking at him that he was completely on alert. Hotch stepped closer to Emily, an instinctive reaction that signaled he, too, felt the threat.

And his first instinct was to move himself in front of her. Which he did.

Which told Rossi a lot.

Hotch's feelings for Emily hadn't changed in the last several weeks. And he was intent on protecting her from whatever it was threatening her.

No matter what Hotch had to do.

Emily ended the conference and stepped off toward the side of the stage. Hotch's hand was at her elbow. He appeared as nothing more than a lackey, subordinate to the agent they'd apparently made the deliberate face of the investigation.

He knew Emily wasn't like SA Jill Morris, out to make a name, so she was handling the press conference at Hotch's insistence. Rossi had to wonder why.

His curiosity was practically insatiable. He watched, cell phone in one hand, remote in the other-the burned one, the one he couldn't really use anymore. The one he didn't really like to look at. As Hotch moved his body even more in front of Emily's. As Morgan came up behind them, blocking Emily from the other side.

They're every action shouted to Rossi that both men sensed something—something directed not at them, but at Emily.

"Day of Judgment" were the unclear words that came from the television as what sounded like a hundred rounds of bullets sprayed across the court house foyer.

Rossi actually jumped and dropped both the phone and remote, watching anxiously as Hotch swung Emily out of the way, blocked her body with his, as they both unholstered their guns. They began to move around the column they'd taken cover behind, and the screen went completely blank.

Now all David Rossi could do was wait. Wait and pray that when the team came home—they'd all come home, in relatively one safe, and happy piece.

David Rossi hated being idle, put out to pasture, away from his team…And never more so than now.

Dammit…David Rossi was going back to work.

HAYLEY'S REPLACEMENT

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW: LATE JUNE 2008

Hayley wanted to scream at the man on the other end of the phone, but she wasn't angry with Dave. No, she was angry at Aaron, and no one deserved her wrath but him.

He'd promised to keep Jack for the weekend, it was coming up on Thursday, and she'd not heard a word from him. And he wasn't answering his cell phone.

"Listen, Hayley. I'm watching the press conference right now. Channel eighty-seven. If you don't believe me, turn it on. I'm sure he'll get back with you as soon as he can." Rossi said, from Hotch's office phone.

He'd went in to the office after watching the first press conference to get a few files, both for the project he was working on for Strauss, and to keep his mind fresh.

Basically, he'd just wanted to be out there doing something productive, rather than sitting at home looking at his mangled arm. He'd used his spare key to Hotch's office to get some of the files he was looking for and had ended up working at Hotch's desk. It had just happened, and when the phone had rang, he'd answered out of habit.

It reminded him why he never answered his _own _exes' telephone calls.

"Look, their showing what exactly happened out there, and I need to watch it. One of my colleagues was hurt. I'm sure Hotch will get back to you as soon as he can." With that Rossi hung up the phone very gingerly.

Hayley actually felt the desire to stomp her foot, her resentment of the BAU and it's members making her feel bitter and guilty all together.

She'd used to be so proud that Aaron was the one making monsters go away. Until she'd learned that those monsters made Aaron go away, too.

She flipped on the television, knowing Jack wouldn't wake from his nap for at least another hour. Just to see what was going on.

Nancy Grace was speaking on the screen, loud and emphatic as usual. "These are a series of clips detailing exactly what has happened over the last few days, at the Nortan Springs Police Station in California. Listen closely to the words this man, this _chief of police, _says. To an _FBI Agent. _Is it always like this for female law enforcement agents? Take a look and we'll have callers after the video."

Hayley watched as a grainy video filled the screen. It showed a young blond and she recognized her as the media liaison for Aaron's team. She hadn't heard she was pregnant, but the shape of her stomach was unmistakable. Hayley couldn't remember if Agent Jareau had ever mentioned dating anyone. Hayley watched in disbelief as several men—dressed in uniforms—badgered the young woman. Watched as the more dramatically dressed blonde she vaguely recalled as working with Aaron was pushed rudely aside. She could hear them teasing both women crudely, and she looked down the hall quickly, making sure little Jack's door hadn't opened. He didn't need to hear those things. Hell, _she _didn't need to hear the comments being said to the women she'd met and liked.

She watched as Agent Prentiss—whom she'd only met once or twice—stepped into the frame. Moved in front of her colleague. The woman whom Aaron had been strangely reluctant to ever talk about. She knew it had always grated on him that she'd been assigned to his team without his approval. How he'd felt she was there to spy on the rest of the team. She gasped as Agent Jareau vomited on the man's shoes. She remembered those days from her own pregnancy. She tightened her hands on the arms of the chair when the man actually jerked toward JJ. _Was he really going to attack her? Oh, God, where was Aaron and the rest of his team? _

Hayley might not have been a profiler but she'd spent years married to one—and the woman who stepped in front of Jareau to protect her didn't have an alternate agenda.

Hayley actually covered her mouth at the filth spewing in SSA Prentiss's direction. _Bitch, whore, _other words Hayley cringed at hearing. All rained out of the man's mouth as he jerked the dark haired woman against his chest, looked down her shirt.

Hayley actually cheered when the woman kneed the son-of-a-bitch where it mattered most.

The filming stopped for a moment, and Nancy Grace reappeared. "It's not over, folks. Some people just don't know when to stop. Take a look at the rest of the video."

The second clip showed the same players, only Aaron, SSA Morgan and Reid were present as well. She watched as her ex confronted the son-of-a-bitch who'd said such vile things to SSA Prentiss.

Nearly dropped the remote when the man told Aaron to get his little whore out of his precinct. Said he'd give SSA Prentiss something to enjoy—something a whole lot hotter than what she was getting from Aaron.

Moved closer to the television when the man she'd been with for over twenty years lost his temper in a way she'd never, ever, seen him do. Feared for a moment, he'd kill the man—right there on screen.

She watched in complete puzzlement and astonishment as Reid jumped out of Aaron's way, as Morgan and another man she didn't recognize jumped to block Aaron's path. As Aaron struggled against them both and would have made it around them.

But SSA Prentiss stopped him.

Hayley watched as SSA Prentiss--Hayley couldn't even remember her first name--wrapped one hand around Aaron's arm and said his name. Called him by that nickname she'd always abhorred.

And he stopped. Just like that. Just pulled back.

Just that simple, he did what SSA Prentiss wanted, no argument, no battle, none of the _hell_ that had characterized _her _every request for the last few years of their marriage.

When had that happened?

Hayley's mind was so filled with assimilating the idea that Aaron might have found someone else that quickly after the divorce was final, that she didn't hear Richard's key in the lock.

Richard worked in the legal department of the FBI. She'd met him six months ago, when dropping Jack off at the Bureau for a visitation weekend with Aaron. They'd been sleeping together since the week after the divorce was final. He'd had a key for nearly a month, now.

Unlike Aaron, Richard never went into the field, was never gone for more than an overnight consultation. Never bottled everything up inside and shut her out.

This weekend marked a turning point in their relationship. They were going out of town for the weekend, and Aaron was supposed to keep Jack. If she could get a hold of him by Friday afternoon, that was.

"Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing?" Richard asked in his slightly nasal tone.

"Press conference for the BAU." She said, hesitantly. He didn't really like hearing her speak of Aaron. Their divorce was still a little to recent for him to be entirely comfortable.

Especially since he worked in the same building as Aaron. Aaron had something of a reputation, apparently. And Richard was scared of him. Hayley had reassured him that Aaron would never physically lash out against anyone, no matter what the provocation.

She wasn't so sure about that after what she'd just seen.

She sighed, eyes still on the screen, as she wondered briefly—_when was the last time he'd fought like that for her? _Instead of fighting with her.

She couldn't remember.

As Richard leaned in to kiss her, she closed to her eyes and made one wish for the man she'd always care about. She _had _spent the last twenty years of her life with Aaron, and she'd always have a place in her heart for the father of her child.

She wished, briefly, that he'd find someone who'd understand him better than she ever had. Someone who'd know him better than himself. Aaron deserved that. Maybe SSA Prentiss could be that person.


	15. Chapter 16

HOPE

MID TO LATE JULY 2008

Erin Strauss didn't hate Aaron Hotchner, no matter what everyone else thought. Strauss was actually quite ambivalent to the man. Her main goal was preserving her unit and her status in it. With Agent Gideon long retired, Hotchner was the only one in their unit who could effectively take her place, and she knew it.

A woman in her position had to be careful if she wanted to keep that position. But after the Joseph Smith case nearly a year ago, and David Rossi's recent brush with an exploding SUV, she'd come to realize one very important thing—Aaron Hotchner was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and she needn't fear for her job. So there was no awkwardness when she approached Hotchner about accompanying his team on another case.

"You want to what?" Hotch repeated. The team was waiting for his go ahead to leave. They'd just been about ready to head home for the weekend when JJ had gotten a call.

"I—and Supervisory Special Agent Sidle—will be accompanying your team on this case. He'll be heading up the new Team D of the BAU. I want him to see exactly how a case is handled from beginning to end." Strauss said, motioning to the dark haired man standing in her office.

He was tall and wiry, with similar coloring to Hotchner, though his eyes and hair weren't as dark. He was roughly the same age as Hotchner, as well, but his eyes didn't have that tight look that characterized the head of the Bureau's _premiere _BAU team.

Hotch had seen more than this man. And that was more than evident.

"Yes, ma'am." Hotchner said, knowing there was really no logical objection he could form. "We're heading wheels up in forty five minutes. We'll be doing a briefing on the plane."

"We'll see you there, Agent Hotchner, that will be all." Strauss dismissed.

HOTCHHOTCHHOTCHHOTCHHOTCH

Emily, JJ, and even Garcia were bunched together at the small table at the back of the plane, laughing stealthily at the most recent Photoshopped pictures of Derek, Hotch, Rossi, and even Reid, currently playing on Garcia's laptop.

Three of the four men in question had no clue they were the object of the giggles from the three feminine parts of the team. Rossi—still not completely physically recovered—had chosen to stay behind and work on something for Unit Chief Strauss. JJ stood, still smiling, and began her routine visit to the cockpit to give the signal that the team was ready.

She stopped as a flurry of footsteps registered. She turned, and was the first to see Strauss and the two men accompanying her.

"Ma'am?" She said, in greeting, and in question, as Garcia hurriedly shut her laptop and attempted to look innocent.

Emily just had an extremely wary look on her face, and a hint of suspicion in her dark, dark eyes. She and Strauss had never warmed up to each, and Emily doubted they ever would.

"If I may." Hotch said, standing as the three new people took seats. "Unit Chief Strauss and Supervisory Special Agent Sidle, and—"

"SSA Reice Ramierez." The other man introduced quickly. He was equally as tall as Derek, and his skin was only a shade lighter. He wasn't a bulky as Derek, but his build left no doubt he was toned and strong.

"SSA Ramierez will be observing and assisting us on this case. They will then be forming a Team D. Any questions?" Hotch asked, and when no one replied he turned to JJ. "Go ahead and tell them we're ready. Portland is waiting."

"Yes, sir." JJ said, one hand resting on her six month belly. Pretty soon she'd not be flying with the team, and she was well aware of it. She was already confined completely to police stations and hotel rooms. Honestly, she wasn't that upset about it. She'd seen so many dead victims—most of them women—that she was grateful for the break.

"SSA Hotchner, are you ready for a briefing?" Strauss demanded, thoughts of the last case she'd worked with this particular team niggling the back of her mind. It was the one and only time she'd been in the field. She still had the nightmares about that woman. Sometimes, the woman's hair grew so long that it wrapped around Erin until she couldn't breathe. Sometimes, it was Agent Prentiss who they'd not gotten to in time. Sometimes it was Erin herself.

Not that she'd ever tell anyone that, though.

"Let's introduce the team, first. We customarily wait until after take off to begin spreading out the files." Hotchner said, as he settled into his seat beside Prentiss—Emily. Ever since the night the team had spent sleeping in an old North Dakota barn, he'd made a conscious effort to let himself think of her as _Emily _instead of the elusive SSA Prentiss. Now, over two months later, and all he thought about was Emily. About how she'd looked sleeping spread over his chest, how she'd looked in that damned tiny tank top she favored, how that red, red bikini had stolen the very breath from his body on a soft sandy beach. How he'd told her that he wanted her. How he'd told her to make up her mind, one way or the other. How he'd given her time. How that time was now up.

"Supervisory Special Agent Scott Sidle, SSA Ramierez," Strauss began, and motioned to the tall dark man who smiled, revealing a slight and charming gap between his teeth. "SSA Aaron Hotchner, SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, SA Jennifer Jareau, and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia."

"Nice to meet you." Sidle said, smiling at everyone individually.

Hotch didn't miss the way his eyes lingered ever so slightly longer on Emily. Several moments passed, as everyone buckled their belts for take off. It was an unusually silent group. Emily sat near JJ, knowing that take-offs had been making her friend nauseated for the last couple of trips. She didn't want Strauss to see JJ getting ill, and knew it would be only a matter of seconds after the plane stabilized before JJ would be out of her seat and rushing toward the rear of the plane.

Sure enough, as soon as the light went out, signifying they could move around again, JJ was up. Emily stood quickly and blocked the line of sight to the restroom. Garcia, across the aisle and beside Derek, stood as well, making a big production of adjusting her laptop and searching through files.

Hotch smiled inwardly, knowing what they were doing. The team protected their own. And Erin Strauss was the biggest threat to the team. If she said JJ couldn't be a part of the unit until after her maternity leave was over—then so be it.

He could easily have told them they didn't have to worry—he'd long squared away all their positions with the team. They were the best and they functioned the best when they were together. Even Strauss had to know she'd only be hurting herself if she tried to dismantle the team.

JJ was back within a few moments, face pale, one hand resting on her stomach; she smiled at Emily and nodded, wordlessly conveying that she was alright.

Hotch, ever observant, saw the little exchange and turned to the rest of the group as Emily and JJ took their seats and opened their files. Hotch tried not to let himself be distracted by the sweet strawberry scent of Emily Prentiss's shampoo.

Sometimes he wondered if she knew strawberry was his favorite scent, his favorite flavor of sweet. Wondered if she knew, and did it on purpose. Wondered if she knew he'd taken a bottle from her things weeks ago. He kept it in his bathroom, just as a reminder of her.

"Three weeks ago, Portland authorities found the bodies of six women. Late twenties to mid thirties, in the greater Portland area. They'd been systematically raped, tortured, burned, and asphyxiated. Special Agent Calvert of the Portland field office called us personally to ask for our assistance. The case was deemed federal because pictures of the women were mailed from a Seattle postal address." JJ began, as each of the regular team members opened their files. Emily handed hers to Strauss, while Reid and Derek shared theirs with Sidle and Ramierez. Hotch shifted slightly so Emily could read his file. She moved ever so much closer and his body tensed.

It took all his years of training to make his body relax. They'd grown so much closer in the last several weeks, and his body craved hers, cried out for what she'd yet to give him.

"Calvert—isn't he the guy we worked with the last time we were in Portland?" Reid asked. "What made him think we could help with this?"

"It's not what's happened or how the bodies were found," JJ read from her notes of the transcribed telephone conversation. "But what's being done to them. Both pre- and post- mortem. He said it sounds like a real sick son of a bitch and thought that SSA Hotchner and SSA Prentiss could help."

"What? Not the rest of us?" Derek smirked. "Now I'm heart broken."

"Calvert really seemed to, um, _respect, _Emily's investigating abilities the last time we were there." JJ said, snickering softly as her dark-eyed colleague rolled her eyes and leaned back in the seat. "I think he probably would have preferred a _solo _consult."

"Not with that again, Jayje." Emily said, sighing inwardly—why was JJ and Garcia so obsessed with her love life? Didn't their own, more active love lives keep them busy enough? JJ had a fiancé waiting for her at home, and Penelope had her Kevin. Emily had a body pillow she snuggled every night along with a completely reluctant cat. It just wasn't the same.

"Ladies." Hotch said, slightly warningly. "Anyway, we've agreed to take the case. So let's continue, shall we."

"So what do we know?" Reid asked, turning to the great computer guru. "Do we have any IDs?"

"Not yet. Bodies were, um, too badly mutilated to even work with dental." Garcia said, "I've sent everyone copies of all we got on their handhelds. Chief Strauss, if you give me a moment, I can forward the information."

"Please, Ms. Garcia." Strauss said, though she really didn't want to see those pictures. It baffled her how the members of Hotchner's team barely flinched upon opening their files. She wondered briefly if _they _were ever plagued by nightmares.

"So we've little to go on." Ramierez said, "What will you do next?"

"Sleep." Hotchner said, emphatically. "Portland is a long flight, and once we get there we'll work long hours. Take the rest when you can get it."

Strauss started to object, but realized what the man said made sense. Hotchner's team all stood, pulling blankets out of compartments, pillows, headphones. Jareau moved to the opposite side, stretching out on the slightly longer bench. Hotchner made no action to move, instead spreading his long legs out and leaning back in the seat. Strauss, herself moved to the seat vacated by Jareau. It was the furthest from the rest of the group. She'd never been comfortable sleeping among others.

"You don't want to sit there." Hotch said, matter-of-fact.

"And why not?"

He motioned to Emily, who had arranged a pillow near his thigh. "She kicks like a mule. You'll be directly in the line of fire."

"But there's plenty of room." Strauss argued. Prentiss said nothing, already nearly out. The last case had been a tough one—the last several ones had been tough ones, for her especially, and she welcomed any sleep she could get.

"Trust me." JJ said. "The woman kicks unbelievably bad."

"Yes. Last time we had to share a one bed hotel room—we made her sleep on the coffee table." Garcia added. "I think she traumatized it."

"You're kidding?" Sidle said, looking at the woman in question. She'd fallen asleep with the ease of a child, unaware she was the topic of conversation. He envied that. "She's that bad?"

"Yes." Reid said. "I made the mistake of sitting there a few months ago. She kicks much harder than Hotch. Before that I don't think we even noticed her kicking much."

"Apparently I kick like a nine-year-old girl." Hotch said, drolly, eyes closing. He was unaware that his hand was absently tangling in Prentiss's dark curls. Unaware that Chief Strauss's eyes were tracking the movement in surprise and speculation. "Prentiss is a lot higher on the kicking ladder."

As he spoke the woman in question began to move, a soft sigh releasing from her lips. One hand snaked out, stretched above her head and glanced off Hotch's hip. He didn't even open his eyes, just grabbed the offending fist and gently tucked it back under the pillow, where it could grip the cotton tightly. It was obvious to all who watched that he'd done the same before.

JJ spread her blanket over her legs and twisted on her side. Sleeping wasn't always easy in her condition. Garcia, stretched out on the other end of the seat, grabbed the end of JJ's blanket and straightened it. "Sleep, little Momma."

"That's all I do any more, Pen." The blonde woman said, drowsily.

"That's all you need to do right now, Jayje." Garcia said. "So that my godchild is happy."

"Yes, ma'am." JJ said, drifting off easily. Garcia soon followed, her head pillowed on the polka-dot feather pillow she left on the jet for the rare occasions she accompanied the team.

Soon the cabin was silent, the women all sleeping. Hotch found it difficult, he couldn't relax with Strauss on the plane, and with Emily so close. So he opened his eyes and looked around at the rest of the passengers. Morgan and Reid were both reclined in their seats and were dozing. Sidle and Ramierez were still awake, though neither was talking.

Sidle noticed Hotch was awake and he turned toward him. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Hotch whispered as Emily flipped over, the blanket tangling around her knees. He absently reach a hand down and pulled the soft material free.

"Send your female agents out. Knowing that they might fit the victimology." Sidle said, eyes moving from the obviously pregnant blonde woman to the dark-haired woman sleeping so fitfully. "How do you prevent them from becoming victims, or targets?"

"You look at them as agents first, women second. You know their strengths and their weaknesses. JJ—Agent Jareau, she's a media liaison, and she goes—went—in the field, but never alone. SSA Prentiss, its different with her. She's fully qualified for any situation. But if possible, no one goes anywhere alone." Hotch explained. "You've also got too realize that someday, in some case or another, sooner or later we all will fit the victimology. Black male, white male, dark haired female, blonde female. Unfortunately, they'll fit the victimology much more than the rest of us. It's the nature of serial killers that most have sexualized components. We accept it. We have to."

"So it doesn't bother you? Sending them out?" Ramierez asked.

"Yes. It bothers me. Each and every time. I sent a female agent home and an UNSUB ambushed her in her own home. I once sent Prentiss alone into the home of a serial killer who cut his victims' hearts out. While they were alive." Hotch said, bluntly. This was information every team leader had to know. Especially in the BAU. "She was the best chance of stopping the guy. She came out of it with a concussion. I know that on every case someone could get hurt. That will always bother me."

"But you do it." Sidle said, understanding. He'd had female agents on his teams before. In fact, he was thinking of bringing two onto his new team in the BAU. "Even though you can't be with them in every case."

"They'd not respect me if I treated them any differently than I did those agents over there." Hotch motioned to Morgan and Reid. Morgan had his headphones on, most likely to drowned out the mumblings of the younger man beside him. Reid talked in his sleep incessantly.

"Yet you're not running your fingers through Dr. Reid's hair." Sidle pointed out.

Hotch's eyes flashed and he looked down, finding that he was indeed running his fingers through the dark curls. "It helps her sleep, knowing she's not alone. Helps keep her still. We all have nightmares. Sometimes they're easier to fight if you're not alone."

"I think, Agent Hotchner, that you chose to sit there knowing what would happen." Sidle said, probing the other man. "Is there something there?"

"That's none of your business." Hotch replied. "SSA Prentiss is a valued member of my team."

"Hey, I'm not condemning." Sidle said, holding up his hands. "She's a beautiful woman, you're free to do whatever you like. I can't say that I blame you, even."

"I suggest you sleep, SSA Sidle. Tomorrow's going to bring a lot you won't be expecting." Hotch said, deliberately twisting his fingers in Emily's hair. He looked down at her, hoping it would calm some of the anger he felt at the other man's inferences.

Not that the inferences weren't dead on—or about to be. He'd long thought about it. Those dark eyes of hers would see through to the very soul of him. Would see in to him while he was in to nothing but her. He couldn't get her out of his head, as if he'd become obsessed.

That both intrigued him and terrified him on so many levels.

EMILYEMILYEMILYEMILYEMILYEMILEY

Emily woke nearly three feet south on the bench then where she'd started out. Her knees were curled up to her chest, and her head was still on her pillow. But she wasn't alone on it. Hotch had stretched out, propping his knees up to fit on the bench and his dark head rested mere inches from hers.

It didn't surprise her. Waking up with him had almost become a habit, especially since the case where she'd woken in a barn curled up in Hotch's warm arms. And he'd deliberately chosen to sleep beside her each and every time possible since then. Nobody ever said anything, nobody ever sent them strange looks. Nobody even cared. Not anymore. It just was. Penelope and Morgan continued to flirt, though she was more than happy with Kevin, JJ still made Reid so unbelievably nervous at times—and Hotch slept by Emily.

She hadn't minded, she just slept better knowing he was near. Strange that it had happened so quickly, but it had. It just was. And that scared her.

It took her a moment to remember Erin Strauss and her new agents. Strauss was already awake—she was the first of any of the passengers. She'd noticed right away that Prentiss and Hotchner's fingers were entwined.

Fraternization was not something that was generally acceptable in the bureau, although she knew it happened. She wasn't sure what she'd do if she found out there was something unprofessional going on between Hotchner and his subordinate. Still—she knew they had an horrible job, so what if they'd chosen each other to help them get through it? As long as they kept it out of the office, should she really object?

It was something worth thinking about.

Hotchner awoke mere seconds after Prentiss, something he always did. He smiled at her, softly. Like he always did, now. For one moment it was as if it was just the two of them. Then he too remembered the unit chief. He sat up, though his movements showed no hint of awkwardness. He always woke immediately clear headed.

A part of him wanted Strauss to confront him about Prentiss. Then he could make it clear she was to stay out of his—and Emily's—private lives. Not that they had one together, yet. But if they had…when they had…it would be best to make his position clear from the very beginning.

"Agent Hotchner, I believe we will be landing soon." Strauss said, deciding to hold off on confronting him for the next little while. She'd watch them throughout the case and then make her determination. "Shouldn't we begin another briefing?"

"Just a moment, ma'am." Hotch said, rubbing his face as Emily sat up slowly. It always took her a moment to get her orientation when she first awoke. More than a moment. "Everyone usually takes a few moments to freshen up before we begin."

Emily stood, grabbing her small toiletry bag from beneath her seat. She didn't speak to anyone, just stumbled to the back of the plane, bleary-eyed.

"It takes her a while to wake up." Morgan said softly, as he stretched. "I don't suggest talking to her for at least fifteen minutes. It wouldn't be pretty. I'll make coffee."

He stood, nudging Reid as he did so. The younger man grunted, snuffled a little, then his eyes popped open and his body went tense so quickly Strauss nearly jumped. Spencer Reid was one very unusual man.

"Morning, Hotch." Reid said, as JJ and Garcia—as well as the two new agents—stirred. "We almost there?"

"We're about an hour out." Hotch said, as he stood to head to the second restroom. He always felt better after taking a quick sink bath and changing into fresh clothes. When he stepped out he was awake, clean, and presentable. He met Emily on his way out and he allowed her to pass before him into the main cabin. "Once everyone's awake we'll go over what we have."

JJ stood almost silently and Hotch and Emily quickly got out of the way. They'd worked with her on enough cases since she'd announced her pregnancy to know that when she first woke up, they had to get out of her path to the restroom and quick.

Soon everyone was spread out around one of the small tables going over everything they had while they ate breakfast. Hotch seamlessly passed Emily part of his blueberry bagel and she handed him the last strawberry jelly packet. The BAU team had eaten countless breakfasts together and they all knew what their friends ate. Strauss and the new agents watched slightly baffled at the way food flowed as if by magic around the little table. They watched as Morgan topped off Emily's coffee, as Spencer handed JJ a box of juice, how Hotch cut his orange in thirds and handed one third to Garcia, one to Emily, and kept one for himself. Watched Morgan snag the bagel Emily tossed to him, watched Garcia pop a pair of pop tarts in the small toaster and hand one to Reid.

It was a strange team that didn't need words to communicate and Strauss was almost in awe of them. Almost. Their methods were also slightly disconcerting, if she was completely honest. Their rapport was remarkable.

"So where will we begin?" Sidle asked, chewing on his own bagel from his spot beside Emily. He'd deliberately settled himself beside the pretty brunette—both because she was an attractive woman and to gauge her team leader's response.

"First, we'll rendezvous with Calvert, get anything new that's developed. Go over victimology. JJ and Garcia will set up in the local police department. Emily, Morgan, Reid, and I will go to the dumpsite or sites—JJ, was there more than one?" Hotch paid Sidle no mind, just handing Emily the last chocolate chip muffin.

"Yes, sir. They found two separate sites, approximately four miles apart." JJ said, more than content with the chocolate pudding cup she'd pulled from the plane's refrigerator. It was her not-so-secret pleasure, especially since getting pregnant. "Both near rivers."

"Emily, you and I will take the first site. Morgan, Reid, you take the second. JJ, you and Garcia…" Hotch looked at the two blonde women, expectantly.

"We know. We go straight to the station, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars." Garcia said, having heard the spiel before.

"Chief Strauss, why don't you accompany JJ and Garcia?" Hotch suggested, "SSA Sidle, can ride along with Prentiss and I, Ramierez with Morgan and Reid."

Strauss wanted to object his taking charge, but she really didn't want to see another crime scene. Not yet. One set of nightmares was enough. "That sounds good."

The pilot announced an imminent landing and advised everyone fasten their belts. Everyone moved to do so, Emily being the last to move. She lost her footing as the plane began a quick descent. SSA Sidle reached out a hand and caught her before she landed full in his lap.

She laughed, slightly embarrassed, as he held her steady until the plane leveled slightly and she could turn back toward her seat and the man beside it. Hotch had reached for her the moment he'd seen her stumble, but had been too late. He took her hand as the plane continued it's downward path, and pulled her first to him. He held her tight until the plane leveled out then helped her quickly into her seat and her own belt.

"You ok, Agent Prentiss?" He asked, though his tone belied the professional address he'd given her. He searched her face quickly.

"Yes. You'd think I'd learn to move a little quicker." She said, ruefully. "How many times has something like that happened to me now?"

"Thirty- three." Spencer said, distractedly. "You always misjudge the landings, Em. With planes, trains, and automobiles. In the last three months alone—eighteen. Hotch has caught you ten times, Morgan five. Dave, at least twice. And I believe you landed on me once, as well."

"Thanks for that accurate report of my clumsiness, Reid." Emily said, keeping a straight face as she looked at the younger man.

"Any time, Emily. At least you didn't elbow anyone—again." Reid said, actually sending her a wink. Emily was one of the three women he felt truly comfortable with just being himself. He'd actually learned to tease a little bit. He'd not admit it, but even when he'd been so bitter towards her, and angry at her questions, he'd always secretly been thankful for the way she'd not pulled her punches with him like the rest of the team had. "That really hurt."

It made him respect her immensely, now. Plus, it was what he'd imagined a mother or a big sister would do. Emily was part of his family now, and he enjoyed her maternal fussing over him. He also kind of liked seeing the way Hotch was changing around her. Hotch was one of the men Reid truly admired. If those two ever figured things out between them, it would bring hope to the BAU. Just like JJ's pregnancy had. The way Garcia's comments did.

Sometimes, Reid knew the only thing a family had was _hope. _As he felt the plane land, he wished quickly that the team would be able to offer the world one little bit of hope—that they'd catch the bastard responsible for those women's deaths before any more women were killed.

And that the team remained safe while they did it.


	16. Chapter 17

CHAPTER TWO

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Two bureau vehicles waited when they deplaned. Calvert and another agent stood waiting to chauffer them to the Portland field office. Calvert greeted them and introductions were quickly made.

"Thank you for coming so quickly." Calvert began, smiling almost imperceptibly at Emily before continuing in his thick Bostonian accent. "We've booked you into the same hotel you were in last time, but I figured you'd want to get started as soon as you got here."

"Has there been any new developments?" Strauss asked, holding her bag tightly.

"We've finally IDed some of the victims through DNA. We, uh, found three more bodies about an hour ago. No identification on them just yet."

"Anything different about his site?" Morgan asked, as he lifted first JJ's then Garcia's bags into the back of one vehicle.

"Same as before." Calvert said, taking Emily's bag and placing it next to Strauss's. "Bodies were found less than a mile south of the second dump site. Same general positioning. Nothing's been disturbed. I figured you all would want to see it first."

"We'll swing by there first." Hotch decided. "JJ and Garcia, you're to stay with the vehicles. Everyone else will spread out and see what you can find. If he's dumping three at a time we haven't got the time to waste."

"Yes, sir." The team members murmured. Calvert climbed in the vehicle and Hotch, Strauss, Sidle, and Emily follow his lead. Morgan and the rest of the team crammed into the second vehicle and soon they were speeding toward the Portland field office.

"What can you tell us about the victims?" Emily asked, from her cramped position in the back seat between Sidle and Hotch. Both men took up an inordinate about of space, just for their long legs alone. She was pressed flush against Hotch, his warmth heating her side. He smelled like Hotch, slightly more expensive aftershave, and the strawberry jelly he'd so enthusiastically spread over his bagel that morning. He was always like a kid when it came to strawberries.

"Melinda Carmichael, age 32. Brown and brown. Disappeared on her way to car outside a small grocery. Tara Ann Seymour, 36. Dark brown and brown. Went missing outside her eight year old's elementary school. Melissa Morten, 34. Blonde and green. Missing outside a local Wal-Mart. They've been missing roughly six weeks. All were found at the first site." Calvert said as he navigated the busy Portland streets. "Ava Ariset, 29, brown and brown. Missing outside a grocery store. Katherine Walls, 27, brown and green, missing from outside her home. Her vehicle was found running. And Roberta Fae Mallory, 38. Brown and brown. Missing from outside a video store. Missing four weeks."

"Any signs of a struggle?" Hotch asked, moving an arm to rest behind Emily, freeing a little more space in the backseat.

"No. Other than the running vehicle, it was like they just walked out of the public locations and disappeared." Calvert said. "No witnesses, no real physical evidence. They're just…gone."

"So how will we find this guy?" Strauss asked, nearly sickened. She did her best work in an office, and that was becoming more than abundantly clear.

"We'll go to the scene, gather as much information as we can, then start the initial profile," Hotch said, as the vehicle pulled into a DNR parking lot near the Columbia River close to where the bodies had been found. Soon, he and the other passengers were out of the vehicles and ready to begin work. "Calvert, I'll need your agent to remain here with the vehicles and assist TA Garcia and SSA Jareau in anything they need."

"Yes, sir. SSA Stone? See to that the ladies have everything they need." Calvert ordered. "The bodies are just over that ridge there."

Soon, Calvert was leading the way, Hotchner, Morgan and Prentiss directly behind him. Sidle, Ramierez, and Strauss were a moment behind them, and Reid was in the rear. That way he could observe the newest members of the team unobtrusively.

What he saw intrigued him. He watched as Emily stumbled slightly. Sidle and Calvert reached for her, to steady her. Hotch merely reached a hand behind him, and Emily took it wordlessly, accepting his help without reservation.

Reid thought all the male attention was making his pretty colleague a little uneasy. Reid might not be a ladies-man like Morgan, but he wasn't completely oblivious to the undercurrents suddenly surrounding Emily. He hadn't missed the way SSA Sidle's eyes lingered on Emily, the way Calvert had of smiling at her directly, or even Hotch's hovering.

They climbed and crested a hill, and started down the steep decline that lead closer to the river. It was a bit of a difficult height, but they all managed it relatively easily, with the exception of Strauss. The woman's heels weren't exactly conducive to hiking. No one moved to coddle her.

Calvert led them to the cordoned off area where the bodies were located. They had been nestled like Russian dolls, one directly on top of the other.

Strauss had to look away. Had to move away. Hotch knew almost immediately this was like nothing the woman had ever seen before. He grabbed her arm and turned her, blocking the grotesque view. She looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"How do you do it?" Strauss asked, huskily. "How can you look at them day after day?"

"Somebody needs to. Those bodies are someone's mothers, wives, and sisters. If we don't do it, who will?" Hotch said honestly. He could sense the members of his team as they inspected the scene from outside the forensic tape. "It's never easy. Never. If you need to, you can go back to the vehicles. JJ could probably use the help with any rubberneckers or bystanders. No one of us will think any less of you if you choose not to see this."

"No. I need to see this through." Strauss said. His words that those bodies were someone's mothers hit her unbelievably hard. What would it do to her children if they came out of their school and she wasn't there waiting for them?

"Take deep breaths. Try to distance yourself as much as you can. If you need to look away at any time, do it. If this doesn't touch you in some way, it should. Don't forget that you are human, too."

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner." Strauss whispered, squaring her shoulders. "I think we have a killer to catch."

"Yes, ma'am. We do." Hotch turned around and led her over to Morgan, Sidle, and Emily. They stood nearly forty feet away, staring up into the trees over the dump site.

A hunting blind was built about thirty feet up. Foliage nearly hid it completely from view.

"Is that supposed to be there?" Emily asked, one hand shielding her eyes from the early morning sun.

"I don't think so, ma'am." A nearby forestry agent heard the question. "This is recreational, not hunting area."

"So if it's not supposed to be there, why is it?" Strauss wondered aloud. "And how the hell you get up there?"

"Probably like this." Emily said, softly. "Derek, give me a boost."

"Gotcha." Morgan wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted, raising her just enough that she could grab a low hanging branch. "Careful, chick."

Strauss and the men below watched as she nearly effortlessly pulled her feet up and then her upper torso. They watched as she moved from branch to branch until she reached the hunting blind.

"So the UNSUB's most likely male, and at least my height." Morgan said. "No shorter."

He easily jumped and grabbed the branch that had been slightly out of Emily's reach. He quickly followed her path. "Relatively fit enough to pull his upper body weight initially into the tree. Hotch, man. He could probably have seen the last two dump sites from here, easily. We're on a bit of a hill."

"So…he returns to the bodies." Reid postulated, having hurried over at seeing his two team mates climbing like monkeys. "And what?"

"Relives the experience." Hotch said. "While you two are up there, anything that stands out—other than the view."

"Nails are hit in at a left-handed angle. So he's most likely left-handed." Morgan called down.

"Joints are precise, boards are flush. He's a relatively skilled carpenter." Emily added, she lay down on her stomach after ensuring their wasn't much forensic evidence to be disturbed, and looked over the side at the people staring up at her from below. "The underside's well constructed. It's a very sturdy piece, and I doubt it's been here that long. The wood doesn't appear to be weathered at all."

"Less than two, three months, tops." Morgan agreed, moving into a similar position as Emily. "Nothing special about the wood or the hardware, Hotch. Could have been purchased at any lumber yard."

"Come down, now. We'll head over to the field office." Hotch ordered, "And the other sites. Check for any similar structures or whether this was his only vantage point. And Emily—be careful, you don't want to reinjure yourself."

"Yes, sir." Emily called down. "Morgan's coming first!"

"Why me?"

"Because if I fall, I want something soft to land on!" Emily snarked at him. Then she whispered. "I don't want them _all _staring at my ass as I climb down, Derek! What's going on with them? Am I releasing different pheromones or something? What? Tell me?"

"Well, Calvert had a thing for you last time we were here, right?" The man whispered quickly. "As for Sidle—quit smiling so prettily at him, I don't think ol'Hotch can handle it."

"So it's my fault?" Emily said, watching as the man moved to the first branch down. "How like a man!"

"What can I say, babe. You're a hot woman!" He teased. "Be careful here, this branch isn't the most sturdy. You should still be wearing that air cast."

"Gotcha. And it chafed. Be careful, Derek. I need you to protect me from _them." _She whispered theatrically as she began to follow him.

"So I'm harmless? From where I'm standing, Em, I've got the best view in the house." He raised his eyebrows leeringly, as he looked up at her from his position slightly below. "Its definitely worth fighting for, and I've seen the red bikini to prove it. And don't worry, girl, don't I always have your back?"

"Morgan, just get down there." Emily ordered, loud enough for the crowd below to hear. "Why is the climb down so much worse then the one up?"

"Because you can't really see where you're going, Emily." Reid called up, earnestly. "It's the fear of the unknown. Most people have an innate fear of falling—especially women."

"Thanks, Reid. That's really reassuring me." Emily said.

"Hey, you're the one that climbed up there!" The good doctor said. "You're trying to do your Wonder Woman impression again, aren't you?"

"Reid, honey, do you even know who Wonder Woman is?" Emily called down. She was about halfway down the tree.

"Of course I do." Reid said indignantly as Morgan held on to the lowest branch then hopped down lightly. "I read all the comic books for the first time when I was like four. I mean, they're full of highly improbable actions, but I can see where young children might be enthralled."

"So Prentiss is like Wonder Woman, huh?" Derek snickered, watching the woman's descent. "Somehow I can see that."

"Don't you all have something _else _you could be doing?" Emily asked as she straddled the lowest branch. The jump was going to be a much bigger feat for her than for Morgan. She didn't have the upper body strength to let her self just hang and let go like he did. Pencil arms. And a dominant hand that should still be in a cast.

"Hey, girl. Just slide on down." Morgan ordered, understanding her dilemma. "I'll catch you."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Emily said, as she rolled onto her stomach gingerly and pushed off the branch, letting herself freefall down.

Morgan caught her easily, then lowered he the rest of the way to the ground. After she was down the agents formed a small circle and went over what they knew.

"He's athletic, at least five foot ten or eleven. Craftsman-type. Used to working with his hands, and pretty strong." Emily began softly.

SSA Sidle moved in closer to hear her words better. And to smell her hair, to remove the horrible stench of death that had lingered after his first sight of the bodies. He'd seen dead bodies before, but nothing quite that horrific.

He'd rather smell strawberries and warm woman. So he did, subtly. So subtly only Morgan and Hotch noticed. Emily herself didn't catch what the man was doing, so caught up in her thoughts as she was.

"He has an attachment to his victims, if only after they've been buried." Reid continued. "I'm not sure why he is burying in groups of three, though."

"Calvert, I want to see the other two sites." Hotch said. "Reid, I want you to accompany JJ and Garcia. I want you working on victimology. Something about these women appealed to him. Captured his interest, his obsession. We _need _to know what it is and quickly. Morgan, Prentiss, Sidle, Ramierez, and I will check out the other sights and meet at the field office when we are done."

"All his victims were white, so he's most likely a white male. Probably in the same age range or slightly older than his victims." Emily thought aloud. She rubbed her hands over her upper arms as she talked. It was an unconscious gesture, one she made when she was thinking, and Hotch recognized it for what it was. "He's a mixed serial killer. The manner in which the bodies were disposed of indicates preplanning and attention to routine, and detail. But the manner in which he abducts his victims—shouts disorganization . The running vehicle is a clear indication of that."

"It also screams of sexual sadism." Reid added. "The medical examiners said there was some foreign fluid and signs of forced penetration."

"He's most likely in his early forties." Hotch modified Emily's early hypothesis. "It's a little too early to tell, but he'd most likely fit an organized nonsocial typology. He has stable relationships, might even be married. He'll drive a truck—not new but not old. It'll be a brag item, so he'll keep it in perfect shape, clean, neat. He'll clean it up after every murder."

"He has to have someplace to keep the bodies. The first trilogy of women went missing six weeks ago. They're bodies were found three weeks ago. Those bodies hadn't been in the ground for three weeks. Original medical examiners placed the time of death on Melinda Carmichael and Tara Ann Seymour at approximately half that." Reid rambled on.

"Someplace off the path, isolated." Emily said, turning and scanning the area. "He wouldn't want to stray too far. He's got to come back to this spot. It drives him. He has to be with them whenever he can."

"He can't help himself." Hotch continued. "But there are also signs of staging. The way he positions the body, the way he nestles them almost lovingly into each other indicates some vague hints of _undoing."_

"Undoing?" Calvert asked.

"Undoing involves a vague attempt to almost undo or make restitution for the crime. It's a part of _personation. _Leads into his signature." Emily explained quickly.

"The truck will be dark in color, black, navy, dark green." Morgan added. "Something that won't stand out as extremely flashy, but it won't be a truck that blends into the woodwork either. Most likely it's only two or three years old."

"Let's head back to the vehicles. Get Garcia looking for dark colored trucks, local, with registered owners in the thirty-five to fifty age range."

"That'll be like thousands." Calvert said, overwhelmed.

"Yes, and with each bit of the profile, we'll be able to narrow it down even further." Hotch said as the group started up the ragged hill. He offered an assisting hand to Strauss, knowing better than to offer one to Emily like Calvert and Sidle had. "I want to head to the next scenes, Calvert."

"Yes, sir." Calvert said.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Emily stood almost shoulder to shoulder with Hotch as they both looked up at the hunter's blind built neatly over the first dump site. It was more than two miles from the most recent site. She, Hotch, and Sidle had accompanied Calvert to the first site, while Morgan and the rest of the party went first to the field office to drop off Strauss, JJ, and Garcia, before heading to the second dump site.

"Guess I'm going up there, too?" Emily asked rhetorically. It was either her or Calvert, and since the field agent wasn't a profiler—that left her. Hotch and Sidle just weren't tree-climbing material in their regulation Bureau blue suits.

Hotch really needed to pack some goin' outdoors kind of clothes in that ready bag of his.

"If you would." Hotch said, drolly.

"I'll need a boost." She said softly. "Think you can give me a hand?"

"No problem." Hotch said, softly. He wrapped his hands around her waist, feeling the heat of her body through the thin cotton of her lavender shirt. He lifted, pulling her body against his and then up.

Emily's hands wrapped around the bark of the branch and she pulled her body up, using all her strength plus the momentum from Hotch's lift to help propel her slightly. This climb was a bit more difficult than the previous, and her injured wrist protested.

"It's not as clean, Hotch. The carpentry's as good, but the joist to the tree is sloppier. But the woods' more aged. I think this is an earlier build." Emily called down, rubbing her wrist.

"Anything stand out?" Hotch called up.

"Yeah. I can see the dump site and about a mile radius. Just like the last site." Emily lay down on her stomach and inspected the blind's underbelly before standing again. "Hey Hotch!"

"Yeah?" He called back up, looking at her as she stood, hands on her hips, legs slightly spread above him and the other two men. She did look like a more modern day Wonder Woman. Yet another fantasy for him to add to his collection. He dreamed about her nightly. Hot dreams, dreams he couldn't forget.

"This guy is methodical, right?" Emily yelled down. "Burying three to a grave. Within a certain distance, building a vantage point to over look at least two sites, right?"

"Go on."

"Hang on, I'm coming down." Emily moved to the back of the blind, and began gingerly making her way down. Trying not to think of the three men watching her ever move. She reached the last branch and looked at her supervisor. He held up his arms and she dropped, having complete faith in him to catch her.

He did. But he didn't release her nearly as fast as Derek had earlier. She finally pulled back slightly, her dark eyes meeting his. They were both hyper aware of each other in that instant. No waffling, no skating around the issue, no worry about his career, about hers. All that was in existence was him and her. She knew how he felt, and he knew how she felt. No more playing games. No more of the time she'd insisted she needed to think.

Then SSA Sidle moved closer to the pair and the mood was shattered as quickly as it arrived. "You thought of something, Agent Prentiss?"

"I think we should have more bodies." Emily said definitively. "Everything about these scenes speaks to a strict adherence to a routine. We wouldn't find six bodies within sight of one blind, but only three near another. We need to head back to the first scene. It's not finished."

"Are you sure?" Calvert asked, with dread. If she was right—three more women were never coming home. And it was on his watch.

"Almost positive." Emily stepped away from Hotch and turned toward Calvert. "Check relatively the same distance as between the first two sites. Approximately half a mile wasn't it?"

"But why were three of the bodies nearly directly beneath the blind, but three others almost half a mile away?" Sidle asked, thinking.

"We don't know yet." Hotch said. "If we find more bodies, it may tell us the answer."

"God, I hope we don't." Calvert said, as the small band of agents returned to their vehicle. Calvert spoke into a radio, calling in more search teams, and search dogs.

"Emily, call Garcia, have her check for any more missing women who fit the general victimology." Hotch ordered, as Emily climbed into the rear seat with Agent Sidle.

"Sure thing."

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Reid, Garcia and JJ—with some actual help from Unit Chief Strauss—worked almost tirelessly at the station. JJ put all the information on the case board they'd requested, along with photos of the victims and witness or family statements. Reid studied and restudied every evidentiary clue. Garcia ran database after database, hoping for a magic bullet, or at least a short-list of names.

They didn't really have much to go on. The remaining team members arrived nearly six hours later, and all studied the board for a moment.

"Did you find anything?" JJ asked, sitting in the most comfortable chair in the place. One of the younger agents in the field office had offered it to the obviously pregnant young woman. Her feet rested on the nearest trash can. Nobody complained, especially once they saw how hard she'd worked on the victimology.

"Three more bodies, right where Agent Prentiss suggested they might be." Bill Calvert said, dejected, exhausted. "And nothing more to go on."

"That's not entirely true." Emily said, touching the man briefly on the shoulder. "We have a beginning profile."

"You ready to present?" JJ asked.

"Just to this group. We have a lot of narrowing down to do first." Hotch said. "Reid, what did you all determine from victimology?"

"Blitz attacks, crime of opportunities. No one really saw anything, so all we can go on is he sees the woman, alone, comes up behind her and forces her to go with him." Reid said. "All the women involved were slightly above average height. Relatively similar builds. Hair approximately shoulder length. That's it."

"So he's not really preferential, other than body type and height." Morgan said. Calvert reentered, hustling in a crowd of a dozen more agents. "Hotch, you want to begin?"

"We are looking for a white male." Hotch began. "At least 5 ft 11. Probably taller."

"Average looking. So unremarkable that he can abduct twelve women and not leave a single person behind who remembered him." Emily added. "He's most likely in his early forties. Probably, relatively tanned and with a healthy physique. Maybe even attractive, but not remarkably so. Superficially charming, even."

"This man has no trouble fitting in to social groups, provided they don't require too much effort from him. He's all about appearances." Derek said.

"He'll have a truck, a 2003 or newer model. Dark exterior, dark interior. He'll keep it clean, neat, detailed, but it won't be a stereotypically flashy vehicle." Hotch added from where he stood between Emily and Derek. "He is, however, a stereotypical male. Athletic, outdoorsy, a real _man's man _persona. Nobody will doubt his sexual orientation."

"He'll most likely be in a serious relationship." Emily added. "A long term commitment. He most likely has children."

"How do you know this?" One of Calvert's younger—and more abrasive—agents smirked. He hadn't been on the team the last time the BAU had been present. "Some psychic give you tips? Tell you the lottery numbers, too?"

"SA Edwards!" Calvert barked, so loudly Emily jumped slightly. "Apologize to _Supervisory _Special Agent Prentiss."

"I apologize, ma'am." The man said by rote. "No disrespect meant."

"We know this because of the way he nestled each set of victims in the fetal position together. It spoke of a need to comfort the victims—even after he'd killed them." Emily said, looking at the younger agent directly. "And I deal with behavior, not psychics. Behavior's a bit more reliable. And I don't play the lottery—I have no need. Any more questions?"

"Yeah!" Edwards said, rising from his seat and moving to stand directly in front of her. "You're telling us you all know the color of the guy's vehicle and the color of his skin. Why can't you give us a name? How 'bout a license plate number?"

"Take a seat!" Hotchner ordered, in the coldest tone of voice he reserved only for the worst of serial killers. He moved to a more aggressive body position, though he didn't insert himself between his agent and Calvert's. It would lessen her authority in the belligerent agent's eyes.

"I just want the question answered." SA Edwards said, shrugging. He liked being the center of this little mini-drama. "If the Special Agent can answer, why won't she?"

"If you'll sit down," Emily said, not backing down an inch. She'd been challenged by this type before, though never this visibly. Some men just couldn't handle a woman in law enforcement—especially when she was ranked higher than he. "We are not finished."

Everyone in the room held their collective breaths, waiting for the man to do as he was ordered by an obviously superior agent. Edwards must have realized he wasn't going to win, that he didn't matter much in the scheme of things, and he withdrew, settling back down into his chair.

The rest of the profile was delivered more smoothly, Morgan and Hotch ensuring that Emily dominated the presentation. It was vitally imperative for the BAU that every agent be respected, and she'd handled herself beautifully.

Hotch hadn't liked it though. The more primitive part of him had wanted to growl at the other man until he knew not to challenge the alpha—male or female. But the saner part of him prevailed, though it had been difficult.

Why did Emily Prentiss bring out the more primitive, the more alpha version of him—more so than Hayley ever had?

Odd—considering that Emily Prentiss had held her own with both terrorists and the nation's worst serial killers. She didn't need him nearly as much as Hayley ever had. Yet he wanted to protect her far more than he ever had Hayley—both protect her from danger and from other males.

What was he becoming? What was this obsession for her doing to him?


	17. Chapter 18

HOPE THREE

_Vaclav Havel said:_

_  
Hope is a state of mind, not of the world. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good._

Emily woke swiftly, hand reaching for her lamp beside her hotel bed. She'd drawn the short straw. Erin Strauss occupied the other bed, and Emily was less than thrilled with the arrangement.

Except for the fact that having the woman peering over her shoulder delayed the inevitable. Her two weeks were up, and she _knew_ Hotch was ready for her answer. That he was waiting impatiently. It was in the way he lingered by her side, the way his hand brushed hers, the way his eyes had burned when he watched her. The way his knee had nudged hers under the table in the restaurant. The way his fingers had trailed down her arm when he thought no one was looking.

But that was the only good thing to having Strauss in the hotel room. It was the older woman who'd made the sound that had ripped Emily from a rather pleasant dream featuring soft sand and kissing waves. And a tall, dark-eyed man sharing that beach with her.

She refused to admit to herself that that man bore an unbelievable resemblance to Aaron Hotchner.

Her two weeks were up, and she still hadn't decided what she wanted.

The sound came again, redirecting Emily's attention to what had woken her from her dream in the first place. Erin Strauss was shifting restlessly, and Emily knew exactly what was the cause.

Emily was faced with a dilemma. She could leave the woman alone and spend the rest of the night watching her suffer—or she could have compassion for what the woman was most likely experiencing.

Emily had her own horrific nightmares, and knew it was a real _bitch _to deal with them alone. Emily couldn't watch anyone fight monsters alone—even in dreams. It was why she'd taken the job at the BAU in the first place. Why she'd given up her own Chicago team to relocate to Washington.

"Chief Strauss." She called in a firm voice. "Chief Strauss, you need to wake up now."

The older woman's eyes flew open, wide and bewildered, darting around the room, terrified. It took her a moment to realize where she was. "Oh. Agent Prentiss."

"Nightmares are a bitch, aren't they?" Emily asked, rhetorically. Non-judging. "Especially after a day like today."

"Did I wake you?" Strauss asked, disconcerted. "I apologize."

"You didn't wake me, ma'am. I have my own nightmares." Emily said, bluntly. "I rarely sleep more than a few hours at a stretch."

"How do you deal with them?"

"I have a cat." Emily told her, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and standing. "If that doesn't help, I write in a journal. Sit and stare at the lights below my condo. Call a friend, Derek or JJ. Cry. Whatever works that night."

"Do you…get them often?"

"Depends on the cases. At least weekly. Sometimes nightly."

"I stepped on the victim's hair. The Joseph Smith case." Strauss admitted, her guard down.

"I dream of that case, too." Emily admitted. "If you don't, that's when you should be worried. We see the most horrible aspects of human kind—more so than many Bureau agents—almost every day. We can't let it show during the day. It comes out at night. Of all of us. Every one of us has nightmares. Morgan, Reid, Garcia, JJ. Me."

"All of you?"

"Well, I know I do, JJ and Garcia, Spencer. Morgan. Rossi. I've held his hand at the hospital when he woke up screaming. I don't know about Hotch, but I'm sure he probably does." Emily said, slipping her feet into her shoes as best she could with the damned air cast back on her wrist. Time for a snack break.

Erin pondered her words for a quick moment. If the younger woman had been sleeping with Aaron Hotchner—wouldn't she know if he had nightmares?

Maybe they weren't breaking the Bureau rules, after all.

"Agent Prentiss, I'd appreciate if this remains between us."

"Of course, ma'am. In this job, you learn to respect secrets. I'm going to find the vending machines and hang out in the lobby. They have Reese's pieces in this hotel. Would you like to go?"

"Thank you, but no. I think I will email my children and my husband." Strauss watched the younger woman leave, noticed how vulnerable Agent Prentiss actually appeared in a loose t-shirt and baggy sweats. And bright pink house-slippers.

The color almost made her smile, it was something her daughters would have chosen. It was incongruous with the image Erin had formed of the younger woman as a professional agent through and through.

What secrets was the young woman hiding?

EMILYPRENTISSAARONHOTCHNEREMILYPRENTISSAARONHOTCHNER

Emily crept down the hall as silently as possible, not wanting to disturb the other guests. She rapped twice on Derek's door—the pre-arranged signal that he insisted on whenever she left her room at night—as she went by.

Wandering the hotels probably wasn't the wisest of past-times. People were much more vulnerable when traveling—she knew all that, and could probably ask Reid for the exact percentage of victims who traveled. But it helped—sometimes.

She raided the vending machines, buying the last two packages of Reese's pieces, and deciding to save one for the morning. Then headed down the steps to the lobby. She knew from experience the hotel staff often burned a fire in the elaborate stone hearth in the center of the lobby.

Curling up in front of a warm fire sounded irresistible to Emily. She settled onto the large leather sofa with a soft sigh, pulling her knees to her chest.

She'd learned long ago to find her peace wherever she found herself. Tonight was no exception. Sometimes, it was harder than others. Tonight wasn't one of those times, thank God.

Hotch found her staring into the flickering flames over an hour later. She didn't hear him approach, didn't see him pause just inside the lobby—watching her. It was nearly three a.m. and she should have been in bed. He'd been awake when Strauss had called, telling him Prentiss had left their room over an hour earlier.

He'd caught Derek just coming out of his room, intent on finding their wayward ghost. He'd sent the younger man back to bed—stating he'd find her and take care of her.

Morgan hadn't argued. He thought this thing between his colleagues was good. Both men had a good idea where she was. She'd done this before.

"Emily?" He sad, softly.

She must have sensed his presence, because she didn't startle. Didn't turn to look at him. Just stared. "There's something so peaceful about a three a.m. fire, don't you think?"

"Hmm. Yes, I do." He sank down onto the sofa beside her. "My apartment has a fireplace."

"So does my condo. But I've never used it." Emily admitted, shifting closer to him unconsciously. In the last month, he'd somehow become a source of security for her—especially in the middle of the night.

"No desire?" Hotch moved his arm behind her back, pulling her even closer. Pillowing her head on his chest. He dropped a kiss to her hair, so light he didn't even know if she felt it.

"Seems like a lot of work for one woman and an indifferent cat." Emily sighed, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

He still made her nervous, more so now that he'd made no move to hide how he felt. Aaron Hotchner on the prowl was something she'd seen before—but never before had she been the prey.

And if she was honest with herself, having that intensity turned on her was more than damned sexy. It was downright burning.

The man should have a patent registered on intense heat.

"I know. When I am home, I most often have Jack. A fire's not that great of an idea." Hotch said, aware of her pressed so closely against him, soft and sleep rumpled.

"Probably not." Emily said. She'd kicked her slippers off long before he'd found her and she wiggled her toes against the soft leather. Hotch watched those toes and finally understood why some men had foot fetishes.

"So why aren't you sleeping?" She asked, unaware of the shift in his thinking.

"Strauss. She called, but I was already awake. She said you went out for candy and never came back. Actually seemed concerned." Hotch wrapped one hand around her waist and pulled her sideways over his lap, tucking her head on his opposite shoulder, thrilling when she didn't make a single move to resist. They sat there for a while, watching the flames—her on his lap, his hand running lazily up and down her spine.

Emily had noticed that when not on the clock, so to speak, Hotch loved to touch. One hand on her back, her shoulder, around her waist. In her hair. Always touching.

"I forgot about her." Emily admitted, softly. "JJ and Garcia—they only worry if I'm gone for more than an hour or so. It never occurred to me that Straus would wait up."

She actually felt guilty for worrying the woman.

"I explained the ghost of the hotel to her." Hotch said. "Told her not to worry or wait up."

They all dealt with cases in their own ways.

"So what's bothering you?" Hotch asked, hand dipping slightly in the waistband of the black sweats, the same pair she'd stolen from Derek months ago. "The case?"

"Partially." Emily admitted, closing her eyes, breathing him in. "Agent Calvert made a point to ask me to have breakfast with him in the morning."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No." Emily said. "But I hated to disappoint him."

"You turned him down." She missed his smile, but she didn't miss the way his arms tightened around her. The last two weeks had brought a lot of changes in their dynamics. Changes she still wasn't sure about.

"Of course." She wasn't the type of woman to agree to a date with one man when another had her in such knots.

"You didn't have to." He told her, firmly.

"I wanted to." Emily insisted. "I don't do well, casual dating. I never know what to talk about."

"Can't exactly talk about the job, right?" He had never been able to mention the job to Hayley. She'd never wanted to hear any of it. So after a while, what was there to talk about, besides Jack? Not much.

"Exactly." Emily sighed, her hand fisting in the t-shirt covering his chest.

It was something he'd noticed she did whenever she was almost asleep. Her hands would fist, almost an unconscious preparation for the battle that just sleeping was for her.

"I hated that. I could never really talk about what we saw, never with Hayley. She said it depressed _her." _Hotch said, voicing what he was the most bitter about in his marriage. "So the only people I could…"

"Was the members of the team. And a leader cannot appear weak. But what about you?" Emily asked, drowsily.

"Hmm?" Hotch was distracted by the way she was snuggling closer unconsciously. God, he'd missed holding her while she slept these past two weeks. It had been a long time since the Nortan Springs, California case. Since he'd slept beside her in the middle of the hotel room the team had been sharing. Since he'd held her to his chest and dreamed of what he'd do to her when they were finally alone.

"If it depressed your wife—what about you?" He felt her words against his neck, and he shivered slightly.

"With Hayley, what happened at the office was to stay at the office. No matter what."

"But it doesn't, does it?" Emily wove her fingers through his and he raised their hands to rest on his chest, beside her cheek. "Sometimes it's waiting for the moment you close your eyes. Waiting until your finally vulnerable."

"And then you wake up, and you're alone." Hotch added, slightly in awe that it was so _easy _to talk to her about it. Dave had been right, telling him he'd only have to be one man with Emily.

"That's why I got the cat. Rather, why Morgan insisted I get the cat."

"But you can't take Kurt on cases with you. So you haunt the hotel." He trailed soft kisses across her brow. Across her cheek. She didn't protest, just sort of sighed, moved closer, if possible. Relaxed against him, totally.

"Pretty much." Emily was almost out, her words stretched out and breezy. Hotch smiled, thrilled at how she'd trusted him. "So why were you awake?"

"Dreams." Hotch whispered as he watched her.

"Bad ones?" She murmured into his chest.

"No, Emily. Really good ones." He said against the dark curls. "Dreams and strawberries."

"You love strawberries." She told him, her words one last warm sigh against his neck.

"Yes, I do. Sleep, honey." He whispered. "Tomorrow comes early."

REIDGARCIAJAREAUMORGAN

Reid and Garcia found them asleep on the leather couch an hour and a half before they were scheduled to meet in the lobby. Hotch's hand was splayed over Emily's back, holding her tightly to him. Her dark hair hung over his arm, and her casted wrist lay behind his head.

"What should we do with them?" Reid's voice squeaked. This was not something he'd ever expected to be part of his job description.

"Wake them up before Strauss finds them." Garcia shrugged, pulling her cell from her pocket and taking several scandalous images.

"Me? No! You do it!"

"Do what?" Morgan asked from behind the pair. "Oh, well. Damn. Can we say about damned time? They've been dancing around each other for weeks."

"How long do you think they've been there?" Garcia asked. It was one thing for them to _have _to share a hotel bed in California, another for half the team to find them voluntarily wrapped close in each other's arms.

"Who knows?" Morgan shrugged. "But we need to get Em up in her room ASAP!"

"Oh my god!" Another yelp sounded from behind Morgan. They turned to see JJ, hands clutching both a package of crackers and a bag of gummy worms. She'd obviously hit the vending machines. "Go Em!"

"Go Hotch." Morgan corrected emphatically, ignoring the tiniest flicker of envy. "For a man who's not dated in two decades, he'd doing pretty damned good for himself."

"Are you all done?" Hotch's voice caused them all to jump guiltily.

"Uh, yes, sir." Garcia gulped. "But sir, Emily needs to get upstairs before Strauss realizes she's missing."

"I told Strauss she's with you and JJ." Hotch said. "She called me last night after Emily left the room and didn't return."

"I thought you'd find her and send her _back." _Morgan said.

"How long has she been—you know…asleep down here?" JJ asked, waving a hand emphatically.

"Since about four, I think." Hotch shifted slightly so he could stand more easily—without waking her. "I don't actually remember falling asleep, myself."

"Somebody should wake her up!" JJ said. "But I don't think it would be a good idea if everybody's staring at her!"

"You've got ten minutes, Pen." Morgan decided. "I'll go guard the hallway. JJ—you go to your room and watch from there. Reid—you go find Sidle and his boy."

Morgan, Reid, and JJ all hurried out. Hotch was more than a little reluctant to go, but Penelope wasn't taking any chances with Emily and Strauss. She gave him a penetrating look and he turned to go. He startled her when he spun around and demanded, "Is it wrong?"

"Sir?" Garcia asked, puzzled.

"Closeness, between us." Hotch nodded at Emily. He respected Penelope and her opinion. Knew that she knew Emily probably as well as JJ or anyone else on the team did.

"You're asking _me _if fraternization is wrong, sir? I'm probably not the best one to ask." Penelope admitted. "But I think that we are all close. It's natural, I think. You all depend so much on each other, for your lives, everything. But you and Emily? You're the superheroes, I guess, almost invincible. You fit each other, I think. Of course, I'm not a profiler, but anyone who knows either of you can see it. But I think you'll have to be _very _careful. Probably more so than me and Kevin."

"Thanks, Garcia." Hotch said, "I appreciate your honesty. You'd best wake her up."

Garcia watched him look down at her friend one more time, flashing back to that day a little more than two weeks ago when he'd stared down at a bruised and sleeping Emily, with such an intense look on his coldly handsome face. "Hey, handsome!"

"Yes?"

"Emily would be the first to admit she doesn't do well at _dating. _Not in the traditional way."

"You think?" Was Garcia right? Emily had more experience than he in the world of dating. He'd seriously dated two women in his life, Hayley and the girl before. And that had been years ago. He knew from just general office gossip Emily'd dated at least that many men since joining the BAU.

"She's not that comfortable with herself as an attractive woman, while on the job. And with a person like Emily—when is she not on the job? She downplays, probably has always had to. It could be dangerous if she doesn't, you know? After a while, it's ingrained. Virginia Beach—she had no _idea _why those LEOs were all acting like idiots. Had no clue that it was _her _they were drooling over and not just women in swimwear, ya know? You need to show her the opposite, especially while on the job."

"I do think she's an attractive woman on or off the job. She, you, JJ—you're all some of the most beautiful, attractive, funny women I've ever known." He said, in a rare moment of open honesty. He didn't miss the expression that spread over the tech's face.

"Thanks, handsome. We love you, too." Garcia said, putting a hand on the sleeping woman's shoulder. "It's nice to hear it spoken."

"I'll take your advice in mind, Penelope. And thanks." Hotch said, turning and strolling determinedly out of the lobby.

Garcia watched him a moment, a smile on her pretty face. "Anytime, Superman."

EMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

Emily's day was ass-backwards from the very beginning. The looks she'd received from her teammates disconcerted her. The new lack of tension between her and Strauss disconcerted her. Aaron Hotchner disconcerted her.

He'd shown up at their door just as Emily was about ready to head down to meet the rest of the team. Said he'd wanted to walk her down to breakfast, that they had something to talk about. He was freshly showered and shaved, his regulation suit a charcoal gray, his neatly tied tie a warm blue. He looked good, smelled good, and a part of Emily wondered if he'd taste good, too.

"Ma'am." He'd greeted Strauss. "Agent Prentiss."

"Agent Hotchner." Strauss wasn't blind to the undercurrents running between the two, as she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the room.

"Sir." Emily greeted, her voice wary, as she eyed him.

"The rest of the team's in the lobby, Chief Strauss. They're planning on finding breakfast first. Prentiss and I will join you all shortly." Hotch said, his fingers wrapping unobtrusively around Emily's elbow. Squeezing lightly.

"Excellent." Strauss said, watching the younger woman's face for any sign of reluctance. Agent Prentiss looked at her calmly, not betraying any secrets.

Strauss had figured it out at four-thirty a.m. Emily Prentiss wasn't the only woman who craved chocolate after nightmares.

She'd seen her temporary roommate cradled in the supervisor's arms. And _he'd _been asleep with the most peaceful expression she'd ever seen on his face in the six years she'd worked with him.

It was one of the first real signs she'd ever seen that he was actually human inside that regulation suit. She'd have to think about that, she thought to herself as she walked away, leaving the dark-haired pair behind.

Emily watched the older woman walk around the corner before turning toward her supervisor. "Are you insane?"

"Depends on the legal definition of insane." Hotch admitted, backing her further into her room. "We were supposed to have a little talk, weren't we?"

"Now?" Emily yelped. "With Strauss just around the corner. You _are _insane!"

"And you're nervous." Hotch said. "Are you afraid of me, Emily?"

"No." She answered immediately. "I'm not. But this, this is completely out of my realm of experience. Where do we even go from here?"

"Have you made up your mind that you want it to go somewhere? Or are we stalling right here?" Hotch demanded as he moved her enough to close the room door, lock it, back her against it—knowing his next move hinged on her answer. "Go forward or call quits?"

"I don't think either one of us can quit, Hotch." She whispered. They were too aware of each other at all times. There was no way it could go back to the way it was.

"Thank God!" He breathed, hand tangling in her hair. She'd left it down, and it was slightly damp, curling. "Thank God!"

He tipped her head back and they both knew what was going to happen next. He started down the small half step that separated his mouth from hers, once more thankful she was a tall woman and he'd not have to bend so awkwardly to kiss her.

She hadn't applied any lipstick, just a touch of berry-flavored balm that he could smell as he leaned in ever so close. Her tongue darted out, a nervous movement that made him smile. Hungrily, predatorily.

He'd be tasting her in seconds. Like he'd been doing in his dreams for what felt like forever.

Emily stared into his dark eyes, the look of intensity burning into her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as he suddenly moved her back against the door, as his left hand came up to grab the muscle of her hip, pull their lower bodies together.

She knew then that this wasn't a simple kiss. That Aaron Hotchner never did anything simple. She whispered his name as his head lowered.

He felt it against his lips, a breezy plea. He wondered if either one of them even knew what she was truly asking for.

Whatever it was, he'd give it to her.

And he did, his lips brushed hers softly, then pressed closer. She could taste the mint of his toothpaste mingling with the berry of her gloss. His tongue darted in, insistent and demanding, no sign of first kiss hesitation. Demanded an equal response from her. He pressed more firmly, demanding an answering response from her again. Demanding.

And she gave in. And held on.

HOPE

_The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger; the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind, the latter to preserve themselves.__  
Joseph Addison_

Emily forgot everything. In that instant, if asked, she'd probably not even remember her own name. All she knew was the feel of his lean body pressing her against the door, of his fingers wrapped in her hair, holding her still.

All she was aware of was his lips pressed so firmly against hers. Of the hand he ran up her side, then down to slide further around her waist to pull her lower body tighter to his.

As his hips ground into hers, she moaned, a deep sound that caused his heart to actually stutter. He dropped the hand fisted in her hair to grip her waist. He lifted her, leaned in even closer, exhilarated when he felt those long, long legs of hers wrapped around his hips. When he felt the air cast on her wrist bump the back of his neck, trying to draw him closer.

His tongue melded with hers, and the sweetness had them both moaning.

"Hotch." Emily said, and he felt it more than heard it. "Hotch, we have to stop. The team. Everyone's waiting."

"God, I know." Hotch pressed his lips to hers once again, before pulling back slightly. "Damn, how I wish they weren't."

He pulled her closer and held her tightly to him for a few more seconds before letting her legs drop to the ground. He brushed the hair off her forehead, moving the curl behind the shell of her ear. "We'll talk later, ok?"

"Talk?" Emily's lips quirked and he felt a rush of heat shoot through him. "Is that what you call it?"

He still heard the underlying tremble beneath her words. "I can think of a few other things to call it. But we really need to get going."

He ran an eye over her, taking in her blue t-shirt tucked neatly into a new pair of charcoal fatigues. Her hair was down, curling, and smelled like strawberries and woman.

Her lips were swollen, red from his kiss, and she'd never looked more beautiful. There was no way anyone on _his _team wouldn't guess exactly what he'd done to her.

"What?" She asked, when he'd stared at her just a little too long.

"Your mouth is swollen, your hair mussed, lip balm is gone."

"You profiling me?" She asked, grabbing her gun belt from the dresser, where she'd dropped it when he'd backed her into the hotel room. She didn't look at him as she wrapped around her waist.

"Just your mouth." Hotch's eyes were hot as he stared at her. "They'll know."

"Are you ok with that?" Was _she? _Emily knew things had changed irrevocably between them, but she wasn't too sure she was comfortable with everyone knowing her business. She'd always been a private person, and knew she wouldn't be entirely at ease being the center of office gossip.

"I'm fine with it." Hotch said, never more honest. "Are you?"

"I don't know." Emily admitted. "It'll be different for me. Innuendos, looks. I don't know if I am ready for that. It's one thing for JJ, Derek, and the others to know. They're family. But Strauss, and those two new agents—I'm not sure."

"I understand." He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. Casually dropped one more kiss on her wide mouth. "So we don't deny, but we don't bring it up."

"That'll work for me." Emily admitted. "But we don't advertise, either. And if this doesn't work—it's our business, no one else's."

"Emily—it will work." They moved into the elevator as they spoke. "I've every confidence."

"I wish I did." She admitted, before they exited the elevator into the lobby. The entire team was waiting, along with Strauss, Sidle, and Ramierez. Emily felt the awkwardness as she moved to greet both JJ and Garcia.

Hopefully the whole damned day wouldn't be as complicated as her morning had been.

Hotch nodded to Sidle and his man, before turning to Derek and Spencer. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes, sir." Morgan answered, eyes not having missed the signs written on both their faces. Hotch's lips were swollen, and the tiniest smudge of something, pink or red in color, rode the corner of the supervisor's mouth. "JJ has decided we're eating breakfast at IHOP."

"Sounds great." Emily said, smiling at her friend. She didn't miss the light of curiosity in either JJ _or _Garcia's eyes.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

They were more than crammed in the booth, Emily plastered between SSA Sidle on one side and Hotch on the other. As she picked at her simple chocolate chip pancakes, she compared the two men. While both were definitely similar, with dark hair, dark eyes, tall, athletically lean builds, serious natures, and nearly identical styles of dress, it was _Hotch _Emily was hyper-aware of.

Of course, was it any wonder? She'd been more than plastered against him less than an hour earlier. She'd felt every inch of the front of her supervisor's body, and it had felt good.

He offered her a bite of his own breakfast, fluffy pancakes covered in a strawberry sauce and she thoughtlessly took it, not even looking at him as she passed him her plate, knowing he'd help her out with the large meal. He carefully slid half her pancakes on to his own plate, and they continued their conversations with Garcia and Derek, barely aware of their own actions.

But no one really missed it—especially the non-members of the team. To the others, it was just another sign of the changing dynamics between the two. To Ramierez, it didn't register as anything more than a curiosity, to Sidle, it was somewhat disappointing, but not surprising. He'd thought to ask the woman out once they'd returned to Washington, but now he had serious doubts she'd say yes.

Pity, he thought, because she was definitely a gorgeous and attractive woman. Who understood the profiling world. Those kind of women were more than a little hard to find, Scott knew. He'd only found one other in his lifetime, and _she'd _rightfully told him to take a hike well over a year ago.

Erin Strauss, uncomfortably pushed in the middle of the booth between Garcia and Reid also saw the unthinking action, and filed it away in her brain—she'd think about it later, _after _watching how they handled the case and the relationship between them. Make her decision then. Would it be best for the BAU to split the pair up? Best for them? Erin didn't know.

What she did know was that Hotchner's team was nearly phenomenal in the way they worked together, and now that she knew he didn't want her place in the unit, she had no qualms leaving him alone to fester for the rest of his career days. And if he wanted to share that festering with the woman under his command, should Erin really give a damn?

Finding someone special was hard enough without the added burden of chasing serial killers, and Erin just couldn't help but thinking that she should just leave the younger two alone. It was easy to see that they did suit each other well, and as long as it stayed out of the BAU, why should _anyone _care?

Why should she?

DEREKJJREIDGARCIAHOTCHEMILYROSSI

Emily was washing her hands in the bathroom sink when JJ and Garcia came in.

"Well." Garcia said, snickering softly. "Have you got some nerve."

"Lucy, you've got some 'splainin' to do." JJ added, moving in on Emily's other side. "So he kissed you."

It wasn't a question. No one assumed it was. "He kissed me. I kissed him, I think. The details are a little fuzzy."

"And?" Garcia asked, giddy. This was better than she could have imagined, way better than when Emily had been seeing Rossi's brother, Steven. "How was it?"

"Do you really need to know?" Emily asked, rhetorically.

"Come on." JJ urged, "Was it all methodical or was it a blitz?"

"You're likening a kiss to an attack by an UNSUB?" Emily asked, moving to dry her hands. "That's a bit disturbing, Jay. And well, like I said, the details are a little fuzzy."

"Fuzzy because of good, or fuzzy because they're not worth remembering?" Garcia demanded, blocking Emily's path to the door.

"Why do you need to know?"

"Come on, I told JJ about showering with Kevin."

"She also told me how Rossi interrupted." JJ snickered.

"What I didn't tell you was that when Kevin came out of the bathroom he only had one towel—and it was on his hair." Garcia said. "Come on, _spill_."

"Yeah. It's not like we've both not wondered." JJ admitted. "We've figured it out—Spencer'd probably be all awkward, but sweet. Derek—he'll be a swooper, you know, move in quick and skilled. Rossi—well, Dave's been married three times. The man has to have some sort of skills. But we couldn't decide on Hotch. But you've actual, practical experience."

"You've given this a lot of thought." Emily said, in a slightly amused tone. "Ok. Fuzzy good. Very good."

"Wow."

"Ohhh, I want details." Garcia clapped her hands, excitedly. "Who made the first move?"

"He did, I think. All I know is I ended up against the door, and I think my legs were around his waist. Are you two happy now?" Emily said quickly.

"Wow."

"This was the first kiss, right?" Garcia asked, "He didn't kiss you in Nortan Springs?"

"First real kiss." Emily answered.

"And it wasn't awkward, messy, or bumbling?" JJ asked. "Impressive."

"Tell me about it." Emily said, "Now can we go back out there, before they send search parties?"

"Spoiler sport!" Garcia said.

"Party pooper." JJ added. "I've got to go, you two wait for me!"

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Strauss had left seconds after Emily, talking into her cell phone as she stepped outside the restaurant for a little privacy. So it was just Hotch and the male agents at the table when Garcia and JJ excused themselves to go to the restroom.

"See, they do that." Reid said, around the final bite of pancakes he'd filched from Emily's plate. The woman barely ate enough to keep alive in his opinion—even with Hotch eating half, there'd been plenty on the plate for Reid to steal.

"Do what, kid?" Morgan asked, finishing off his coffee.

"Go in packs. I don't get that. Do all girls do that?"

"Reid, haven't we discussed this before?" Hotch asked, mouth quirking. "Women always go in packs. I have yet to understand it, but JJ, Garcia, and Emily are no different."

"They all do it," Ramierez added, one of the first few times he'd contributed to the breakfast conversation. He was a very quiet man.

"But _why_?" Reid demanded.

"That's one of life's mysteries." Morgan said, having grown up with sisters. "My theory is they're afraid they'll miss an all important part of a conversation—so they take the conversation with them."

"So what is so important this morning that they have to go now?" Reid was honestly puzzled, and it showed on his face.

Hotch smiled at him, thinking of how the boy had changed in the last several years. He'd actually started to fill out some, both face and body losing the painfully thin awkwardness that he'd shown when he'd first joined the team. But some things, like the boy's lack of understanding when it came to women, would never change. "I'm sure it's nothing, Reid. Probably something they'd wanted to talk about last night and didn't get the chance."

"Sure it is." Morgan said, snickering at the other man's face. "That's why they rushed after Emily like a pack of marathoners."

"Something you're implying, Derek?" Hotch's brows rose, almost daring the younger man to comment. Hotch knew Derek felt slightly protective—maybe even a bit possessive—about Emily, and it wouldn't be unexpected for him to challenge Hotch's actions. Insist that he treat Emily right.

"Nothin', man, just that strawberry pink lip balm isn't really your thing—unless there's something you've forgotten to mention." Derek shrugged. It was gone now, but he hadn't missed the small streak of wax. "I don't think JJ or Garcia missed it, man."

"Is this because Hotch kissed _Emily_?" Reid asked, stupefied. "So? Why would they have to talk about that?"

"Is it that obvious?" Hotch asked, looking at the four men surrounding him.

"Hmm." Sidle said, touching one finger to his lips, tapping to illustrate a point. "Kind of hard to miss, Agent Hotchner."

"Well, if you wouldn't mind, Emily would prefer we _not_ discuss it." Hotch's tone was rueful, and Derek—at least—caught the undertones. "She's still a bit unsure. Neither confirm nor deny. At least for now."

"Gotcha, man. But you know they're in there pulling every detail out of her." Morgan said. "Nothing will stay secret with Garcia on the trail."

"I know." Hotch nodded, as the three women rounded the corner. "I couldn't care less—but she does. Needs a little more time."

"Tough break, man." Derek commiserated, then hushed as the three women approached the table. Hotch stood, allowing Emily to slide in front of him, he trailed a hand along her shoulder without thought, just a simple gesture.

She smiled at him as he sat back down, crowding in closer, as Erin Strauss returned to the table. They had half an hour before they had to leave to meet Calvert at the field office.

Emily was more than doubly glad the Portland agent hadn't met them for breakfast—it would have been more than awkward with him there.

The rest of the breakfast finished quickly, plates being cleaned, coffee refilled. Emily laughed at Reid's look of disappointment when he realized both her pancakes and his own were gone. She leaned into Hotch some, and his arm had naturally found its way around her shoulders. His hand twisted in her dark hair, while his free one pulled her non-casted arm across his lap, under the table.

Was he even aware that he was constantly touching her? Emily didn't know. And she honestly didn't care. She'd made her decision, and wouldn't waver, no matter what the consequences. It just was.

And she was pretty sure she was fine with that.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Strauss had to leave, and Emily couldn't help but be relieved. August Parsons—Strauss's assistant—had been the one on the phone, recalling the unit chief to Washington.

No one was really sad to see her go, and Emily felt the greatest relief. As the older woman departed with a Portland agent as driver, Emily felt the weight falling off her shoulders—now she didn't have to worry about their every move being watched, cataloged, and evaluated.

Her smile was a bit brighter when she looked at Hotch. "I think I love August Parsons."

"Bit different from a week ago." Hotch commented as he followed her into the conference room where Agent Calvert and a few of his men waited.

"Ah, but look what he's done for us today." Emily snickered as she took her seat, greeting the Portland agent and his colleagues. Hotch settled into the chair beside her.

"So any new developments?" Hotch asked Calvert, as the rest of the team were seated. A palpable sense of relaxation covered the BAU, and Hotch knew it was because of the recent departure.

"We've determined the new bodies were buried approximately one week after the first ones." Calvert said, looking around the table. Avoiding the eyes of the dark-haired woman. She'd let him down gently after his breakfast invitation, but he still felt the awkwardness of it all. And he'd watched her as she and her team walked down the hall toward the glass-encased conference area. Saw the way she and her supervisor seemed to be continuously drawn together. So he'd drawn his own conclusions.

It made him feel a bit better, knowing that she hadn't lied the night before. She _had _told him she was sort of involved with someone—he just would never have expected it to be the extremely reserved SSAIC Hotchner.

Still, Hotchner was a good guy. And Calvert genuinely liked Agent Prentiss. He wished them luck—but he still felt the disappointment.

"And we've ID'd them." Calvert added, pulling the sheaf of papers from the file in front of him. "All three came from the greater Seattle area."

"So who mailed the pictures?" JJ asked, "And why?"

The pictures were of each of the women bound and gagged, in a small dark space. The light was low, visibility almost non-existent. Garcia had done the best she could, enhancing the shots, but they'd ultimately led nowhere.

"He's reaching out." Emily postulated, "None of the pictures are of these first six women, correct?"

"Right. Just those taken within the last four weeks." Calvert answered. "Is that important?"

"It shows that he was upset that he wasn't being recognized." Hotch said, "So he sent the pictures to the FBI. He could have chosen the Portland PD, but instead chose to send them to the FBI. And after last years' case with Stanley Howard, he might even have targeted you specifically."

"What did he think I could do for him?"

"Get him the attention he thinks he deserves." Morgan said. "But if the first set of women disappeared from the Portland area, and the next the Seattle, and the pictures were mailed from across state lines—he must have known that the FBI would take jurisdiction. So that tells us he's reasonably intelligent."

"Which will make him a little harder to catch." JJ said, eying the files spread around the table. "So what do we do now?"

"Someone needs to go to Seattle. Everyone else will re-interview each witness and family of the other six women." Hotch said. "Morgan, I want you and Reid to stay here. Sidle and Ramierez will accompany you. JJ and Garcia, you'll coordinate everything we find from this office. Emily and I will fly to Seattle today and be back tomorrow night. Calvert, this guy has targeted this office for a reason, I want you to stay with Morgan and Reid and assist in any way you can. And JJ—I want a press conference by five this afternoon. You and Calvert need to brief the city on what's happening."

"And give him the attention he wants?" Morgan asked. "What will that do?"

"Nothing for him. But if he's blitzing women, we need to warn his potential victims." Hotch said, as he stood. "Everyone, I'll want regular updates. We need to move quickly. If he sticks to pattern and keeps these women for at least two weeks, chances are good that he's got some victims right now, who are still alive. Garcia run _all _missing persons, both Portland area and Seattle. We need to identify whomever he might have."

"Yes, sir." Everyone said as they all stood to carry out Hotch's orders.

Emily wondered at his decision to take her to Seattle with him, wondered if it was a good idea. Wondered if he'd made the decision because of her talents as an agent or because he wanted her alone with him. Dammit, how was she supposed to reconcile her feelings for him with the need to do her job?

This was a bit more complicated than she thought it would be—already.

HOPE FIVE

_Alan Cohen__ said:_

_It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power._

Seattle was wet, crowded, and dingy. The suite JJ had booked for Hotch and Emily wasn't any better. Hotch unlocked the door before handing a key card to the silent woman at his elbow. "Here we are."

"Is it pathetic that getting to a hotel actually feels like I'm getting home? How many days have we spent in hotels this year?" Emily asked rhetorically, dropping her bag on foyer's couch. She didn't make a move toward either bedroom—she had no idea whether she was sleeping solo. Where she was sleeping. If she'd be doing much sleeping at all.

That thought tightened her stomach, filled her with a slightly scared excitement. She was most likely about to _sleep_ with her boss.

Maybe. She hadn't really decided yet. They'd been in Seattle for nearly six hours, had interviewed two of the families of the victims, had liaised with the Seattle field office, gaining their full cooperation. All that was left for them to do was find dinner and unwind for the night. Sleep. Whatever else they found to keep themselves occupied before the morning.

It was that _whatever_ that had her tied in knots. She was freaked to her toes, absolutely freaked, as she looked around the non-descript hotel suite. Two bedrooms branched off the small foyer, but Emily had a feeling that regardless of what they did in _that _bedroom, only one room would be used that night.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Hotch asked, casually dropping his own bag beside hers. What he really wanted to do was say _screw_ _dinner_, _screw_ _food_. What he really wanted to do was scoop her up and disappear into one of those bedrooms—it didn't matter which one—throw her down on the bed and do _exactly _what he'd been dreaming about since that night in a chilly North Dakotan barn.

"Hmmm." Emily said, turning toward him, one hand placing an errant curl behind her ear. It was one of the few nervous habits she had and he smiled, knowing the cause of her awkwardness. "I'm not real sure."

Maybe he should just get it out of the way? But then again, he knew anticipation made the excitement so much more intense. He made sure the door was firmly closed and locked behind him, before stepping closer. "Emily."

She turned, looking at him fully, breath catching as he'd spoken. She knew what he was going to do, and she felt the warm curl of heat in her belly. Hotch was so methodical in everything he did, and kissing was no exception. She'd learned that in a Portland hotel room just a few short hours ago.

He ran a hand down the bare skin of her arm, fingers slightly roughened and hot, and grabbed her hand. He used it to pull her closer to him, then pulled her arm behind her, arching her lower body into his. His fingers manacled her wrist, his forearm locked to keep her in place. His other hand joined in to hold her still. To make her vulnerable, to him, and only him. She wasn't going anywhere.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth brushed the soft skin of her neck, as his tongue darted out to taste her. The silk of her hair tickled his cheek, filled his lungs with the sweet scent of strawberries.

He had her hotter than she'd been in months, and his mouth hadn't even touched hers, yet. Emily didn't know if she could survive what would naturally come next. Even his kisses were intense, methodical, deliberate, controlled. Designed to achieve maximum results, to have her weak before him. She felt the trembling shaking her body, felt the heat in her stomach, felt the breath backed up in her lungs.

And his lips hadn't even touched hers yet. "Hotch."

"Yes?" He whispered, brushing her cheek with his lips. "Not too much, too soon, is it?"

"No." Her reply was a deep moan as he used his hands to pull her hips ever so tighter to his. She could feel him, feel the change that had overtaken his body.

She had that much effect on him?

Her eyes were closed, so she missed the predatory grin that touched his lips, missed the deep light of lust that illuminated his demon dark eyes. Missed the way that dark head swooped down, closing in on her slightly opened mouth with an intensity that shocked them both.

Then he was kissing her fully, and she thought of nothing else but the feel of his lips on hers, his body pressing into hers, his hand dropping to ride low on her hip.

The other hand released her wrist, freeing her arm to rise behind his head. The other hand, still in that damned air cast, slid around his waist, fisting in the blue cotton of the shirt he favored. She pulled him slightly to her, and then absolutely no space existed between them.

His hand fisted in her dark hair, pulling her head back slightly, arching her neck, exposing her. He dropped his mouth from her lips, running slightly wet kisses over her nape, nipping the delicate flesh of her earlobe. "Emily. God. Do you know how long I've been waiting to do this?"

"Mmmm," She ran her fingers through his short dark hair, body completely relaxed against him.

"Since North Dakota. And then that day, you in that damned red bikini, strawberry red, do you know I see that bikini every night? And every night it's _me _taking it off of you. Do you know you just dropped those shorts right in front of me? As if I wasn't even there, but I was. And I saw…saw exactly what I was missing. What I wanted to have, _had _to have."

She moaned at his words, thrilled knowing he'd noticed her in that ever-so-tiny bikini she'd worn at Garcia's insistence. She moaned again when his capable hands pulled her shirt from the band of her pants, gasped when she felt the heat of his hands against her skin.

Then the shirt was gone, him giving her no time to protest—if she'd even wanted to protest. Then she stood there in front of him in nothing but charcoal fatigues and a plain, serviceable black bra.

He stepped back, only a little, just enough to look at her, to take in the dark hair he'd mussed with his marauding fingers, to see the lust-softened eyes, the kiss-softened lips. To see the firm body, curved in all the _right _places, separated from him by two small black swatches of material.

He'd have that off of her soon enough. And there was plenty of time. He moved back in, hands moving under her arms just enough to lift her into him, to get her off balance, vulnerable, easily maneuverable. Maneuverable enough for him to back her against the wall, the way he'd fantasized each and every night.

He knew whatever happened between them wouldn't be all sweetness and light. Knew the darkness would be released like the demons of hell—if she'd let him. God, if she'd let him. He wanted hard, and fast, and furious, followed by slow, and controlled, and unending. He wanted it all.

But she wasn't going to be a mere spectator in this battle between them, and her clever hands made short work of his blue shirt, slipping each button one by hurried one, until she could push the cotton off his broad arms. Only a thin cotton undershirt separated her from his skin, and that just wasn't good enough for her.

If Emily was going to do this—she was going to do it right. The way she wanted. She mewled low in her throat, pulling the material of the undershirt out of his blue trousers, one hand running feverishly over the hard stomach she'd exposed, fingers ghosting through the tiniest bit of hair that covered his skin.

He pulled back, undershirt going the way of the floor, quickly followed by the black bra. It landed on his left foot and he kicked it away hurriedly. Then she was back in his arms, pressed against him, where he could feel the silk of her skin pressed against him fully for the first time. He ran his lips over her neck, dropping to the top of her shoulder. Bit her lightly, reveling in the shivers that chased through her. Ran his hand up her side, over her chest, squeezing lightly.

"God, Hotch, please!" Her words were a rasp against his ear as his hands dug into the muscles of her thighs and lifted her legs around his waist again. As he drove his hips into hers, letting her feel him fully for the first time.

This was nothing like the semi-sedate, somewhat innocent touches he'd favored her with in California. This was him acting on the promises he'd made over the last few weeks to burn her alive.

And God, was he doing it.

His left hand burned up her side, fisting in the hair at the back of her head, pulling her head back almost painfully, dropping to nip the skin of her neck, returning to sooth the injury before returning to nip her all the harder.

He wanted nothing more than to devour her, and he wanted to make that more than abundantly clear to her before they ever got close to the damned bedroom. "Em—are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Mmm." She pressed her lips to his, her non-casted hand drifting down his back, running over the supple skin. "Yes."

"Thank God." Hotch said, carrying her to the door leading to the bedroom. "Open the door."

She followed his command and it was mere seconds before he had her on the bed before him. He pushed her back, rougher than she'd expected, but it thrilled her, nonetheless. He was on one knee, between her thighs and his weight dipped the bed beneath him, them.

He kissed her again. She kissed him, both their mouths fighting for dominance, fighting to express all the words they'd not ever been able to say to one another. She tasted of chocolate and sweetness, he of strawberries and heat. His hands were at the button of her pants, sliding them open, sliding the zipper down. Sliding his hand beneath the dark material. Touching the soft silk material beneath.

He retreated, long enough to turn on the bedside light. He wanted to see her, watch her face when he did all the things he'd longed to do to her. She protested, hands reaching for him impatiently and he laughed. Actually laughed, a low, salacious sound that made her shiver. Aaron Hotchner had a wicked side, one that he didn't let free very often, and Emily felt she was about to experience it in every nuance of her being.

And she wanted that with a longing so deep it ached.

He stood looking down at her for only a moment, hand on the fastening to his own pants. She watched as they hit the ground, revealing his navy boxer-briefs. Revealing the shape of what the material covered. He stepped out of his shoes, pulled off his socks, moved to pull her boots off. He pulled her fatigues down so agonizingly slow, revealing her long legs, firm and toned, and the tiniest red panties. Red—like he'd fantasized about.

It took all his control not to leap on the bed, roll her beneath him, and just take all he'd ever wanted from her, right then, right there.

A lifetime of control served him well, in that instant. But barely.

Emily stared at him, dark eyes profiling the toned body, the ever so slight spattering of hair covering his chest. The strong, deceptively powerful arms that had lifted her so effortlessly. And she wasn't a diminutive woman, no she was tall and curvy, athletic. Hotch was one of those men who made his strength seem effortless, and Emily was ready for him to use that strength against her, with her. On her.

Soon, he was completely naked before her, his hand slipping the red panties from her body. Then his hands were everywhere and hers were just as mobile. They were caressing, stroking, kneading. Needing.

She forgot her inhibitions, he forgot his tight rein on his control, and they burned the sheets together.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Three a.m. was always the weakest point for Emily, and that night was no real exception. But this time, she lay awake contemplating the very recent changes in her life, and Aaron Hotchner's role in that life. Contemplated waking him up and them going in search of chocolate, chips, pretzels, anything—together.

She was starving and she put the blame right where it belonged—on those strong, and very much _naked _shoulders. God, how she was sore! Hotch hadn't been just satisfied with that first time; no, he'd let her rest before they'd begun all over again, this time slow and deliberate. The way she'd thought it would be with the coolly reserved man.

Man, had he surprised her. And _damn, _was she sore. And hungry. And…stuck. Hotch lay on his stomach, one arm draped over her middle, holding her tight. Whenever she tried to move the arm—without waking him—he protested, pulling tighter, pulling her closer to him. Snuggling her to him. In a sleep-roughened voice, he whispered. "Shhh, Em. It's ok."

"I know." She said, knowing he wasn't awake, if he was he'd be clear eyed and staring down at her—like he had in California. She smiled at him, reveling in seeing him so vulnerable. Talking in his sleep. Holding her like a child would a teddy bear.

Seeing him so completely naked. For a man around fourty, Hotch was built. She'd always liked the tall, lean type. Strong, deceptively so. That was Hotch. "Hotch. Hotch!"

"Hmm." He moved, finally, pulling his arm off her chest. "Emily?"

"Hey." She smiled softly, suddenly nervous. They'd fallen asleep with the light on, too exhausted to care, and now she wished she'd taken the time to flip the switch.

The light always made secrets more visible, made faults more clear. Made awkwardness…more awkward.

"You ok?" He asked, running one analytical eye over her, even though the cream-hued comforter covered her body from his eyes. "I didn't get too rough, did I?"

"No." Emily actually felt the heat touch her cheeks as she remembered how _rough _it was, and how much she'd enjoyed it. "You weren't too rough."

"So why are you awake? Nightmares?" He rolled over to his side, completely lacking self-consciousness about his nakedness. They were both finally where he wanted them, and clothes were not part of his equation. As he looked at her, he decided blankets weren't part of the equation either—unless they were both completely under them. "You ok?"

"No. I'm hungry." Emily said, emphatically, while wondering just what exactly one was supposed to say after completely mind-numbing sex with one's supervisor. Three times. No—four. No wonder she was sore. Her supervisor wasn't exactly a _gentle _lover. "Desperately need food."

"Really?" Hotch laughed, moving to pull her back down to the pillows. "Wonder if there's any place that delivers at three a.m."

"Vending machines will be fine." Emily told him, primly, willing to let herself be distracted by him. "In a little bit."

He leaned down and kissed her softly, gently sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. "This is better than a three a.m. movie, isn't it?"

"Much." Emily agreed, hands looping behind his neck to pull him closer. "And I love re-runs, sir."

"Yes, ma'am, SSA Prentiss."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

She had a smudge of chocolate on her lips, Hotch thought, as he lie there beside her watching her sleep. After they'd rolled around a bit, she'd ordered him to get dressed. Insisted she wanted pretzels and Reese's.

Who was he to argue?

They'd devoured their vending machine finds, the fact that they'd missed dinner and their recent physical activities had made them both more than ravenous.

And then she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep beside him, dressed in that red tank top and short gym shorts—just like she had in California. Except this time he didn't have to lie there wondering what was under those clothes. He'd seen it, touched it, tasted it—claimed it.

And the caveman in him was finally satisfied—for the time being.

And it had been beyond his imaginings. Had it ever been that way with him and Hayley? He didn't think so. He'd never lost control like that with his ex. Never, she never would have allowed it.

But Emily seemed to demand it. Wanted it. Needed it. And he was more than ready to provide her with exactly what she needed, whenever.

But he didn't think he'd be able to do another five'a' nighter. If he admitted it to himself, he was probably too old to have done what he'd done tonight—especially so many times. But any soreness, stiffness of old muscles, he experienced was more than worth it to have her with him. He didn't care if he limped around Seattle all day today, he'd know what happened between them, and would revel in it.

They still had a few hours before the seven a.m. alarm, but he couldn't sleep—no matter how physically exhausted his body was. He couldn't stop replaying every glorious moment of the past few hours, and his body was beginning to stir.

But he was letting her sleep, so he ignored the urgings of his body, turning on his side to see her more fully. They still hadn't turned out the light, so she was completely revealed to him. Her face was soft, relaxed in sleep, with the new bangs tickling her forehead. He liked them, it softened the angles of her face a little, made her appear less cool and collected, made her look a bit more approachable—and almost sweet. Especially when asleep. Her mouth was slightly parted, swollen from his kisses. _His _kisses. And that thrilled him, down to the deepest, most primitive part of him. A tiny bruise had formed on her shoulder, where he'd bitten her, but he didn't feel any remorse for his actions. He liked that he'd marked her, made it clear to all that she was _his._

Aaron Hotchner was a caveman, when it came down to it. And the civilized suits and neatly tied ties really couldn't hide it—if one looked just close enough.

He used to hate that part of himself. The angry part, the instinctive part that he'd learned to control so long ago. A part of him still did. But he couldn't find it in himself to care tonight.

_She_ hadn't been frightened off. If anything, she'd burned hotter the rougher he'd gotten. It was like the profiler in her had _understood_ exactly what he'd needed, wanted, _craved_. Like she had read him clean through.

He wasn't too sure how he thought about that, now, but when it was happening he'd been awestruck. Had he ever given any other person that much power to see inside him?

Had anyone ever just seen, regardless?

Hayley certainly hadn't. Gideon might have, but it wasn't something they'd ever discussed. Dave certainly seemed to read him a little. And they were the only people he'd ever felt close enough to open up to. But with Emily, it was as if he didn't need to consciously open up. As if she just knew.

Was it the profiler in her, or just that she was uniquely tuned in to _him?_

He wasn't sure what he hoped for, but he knew that he couldn't wait to find out. In the meantime, he'd just wait and see what happened between them from here. He rolled back onto his back as she flipped over, beginning the habitual squirming that signaled she was dreaming. He pulled her closer, whispering reassurances until she settled, against his chest, one hand draped around his neck, his shoulder, her knee rising to cover his thigh.

This time he could run a hand all over her body, pull her as tightly to him as he wanted. No rules of propriety could stop him now, so he took advantage of it, aligning her just where he wanted her, until he could feel her all around him, felt his body tightening even more. He didn't move to act on those urges, just laid there enjoying having the right to lay there.

Hotch had gotten what he wanted from Emily Prentiss, and he was damned sure he'd get it again, and again, and again. And now that he'd had her—there was no one who could stop him from getting even more from her.

But he'd have to go slow. Not rush her, not endanger their careers, their reputations. But when all was said and done—he was going to have it all.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily was so damned sore she didn't think she could move. That was her first thought upon waking. The second was that there was no way she was getting out of that bed. No way. At that point, she didn't care if there were a hundred serial killers outside her door—she was too damned sore, in places too damned unmentionable, to even think about moving.

And it was all his fault. The animal. She felt a smile touch her lips as she remembered exactly what that animal had done to her, with her, for her.

Ok, so maybe she liked the animal in him. But that didn't mean she wasn't sore.

Wow. She rolled on her back, looking toward the bedroom door, which he'd left open. Heard the shower running, knew exactly where her boss, and now her lover, was.

How was she going to make it through the entire day?

It would kill her. No doubts about it. And he'd have to explain the _why, _the cause of death, to an entire team of profilers. She could picture it in her head. Morgan's quirked eyebrows, JJ's mouth forming her favorite _wow _expression, Reid completely flabbergasted, and Garcia—Garcia would be snickering in the background, her voice filling everyone's earwics.

She giggled softly, as the man in question wandered back in, dressed in underwear and an undershirt, towel-drying that black hair of his. "Hey."

She laughed again, seeing the way he moved. Maybe she wasn't the only one who was sore.

"You find something funny, SSA Prentiss?" His dimples flashed, a rare occurrence that had gotten a little less rare in the last few weeks. "Care to share with the rest of the…team?"

"Yes, sir. SSAIC Hotchner. All my profiling skills are leading me to believe you had a very rough night."

"You might say that." Hotch's lips twitched as he sank down on the bed beside the giggling woman. "I hurt in places that simply don't exist."

"I've decided I am staying in this bed until I can walk to the bathroom without groaning." Emily declared. "You'll just have to fly back to Portland without me, seeing as how _you_ can walk. And—you get to explain it to the rest of the team why I am suddenly stuck in bed."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice was concerned, his dark eyes inscrutable. "Wasn't too rough?"

"No. Not at all." She said, sensing his question went a bit deeper than he wanted her to know. "It was wonderful, Hotch. I am sore but I think it was from doing it _five_ times in such a short span of time. Wow."

"Yes." He said, leaning in to kiss her. "I agree with that—wow."


	18. Chapter 19

HOPE SIX

_What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.--Oscar Wilde_

Twenty-six hours after Calvert and JJ aired the news conference, the tip line resounded with one name. Gerald Moore was a local carpenter and builder who liked to hike in the area surrounding the dumping sites. Three callers had pointed in his direction for three different reasons. The first caller knew Gerald Moore and had seen him in the general vicinity where Melinda Carmichael disappeared. The second caller remembered selling the building materials to a former classmate who drove a late nineties Dodge Ram, dark in color. He'd helped Moore load the vehicle, and had seen a mud-covered shovel in the truck's bed. His call was a shot in the dark.

But it was the second time Moore's name had come up through the tip line. The final nail in Moore's coffin came from a forest service agent who'd retired two weeks earlier. He'd remembered citing Moore's vehicle for parking in a restricted zone less than two hundred feet from the first dumping site the same week the forest service agent had retired. Moore had been belligerent, nervous, agitated enough that the agent had made a note of the man's name and plate number.

JJ took the call from the forest service agent personally. She'd also taken the call from the lumber supplier. It was a simple as that coincidental fact that led her to putting them together.

Within two hours Garcia had everything there was to know about Gerald P. Moore. Enough for them to strongly suspect he was the UNSUB. All that was left to do was find him.

Morgan and Prentiss went to Moore's house, along with Sidle and Calvert.

"Does it ever creep you out?" Emily asked. "Going through their houses? I mean, I know it bothers Garcia to go through their records. But we...we are supposed to get a feel for these monsters by checking their everyday life."

"And you're wondering what profile could be developed from your condo." Morgan said. "That's understandable."

"Is it?" Emily asked, as Sidle and Calvert searched the backyard. "So what would profilers learn about the great ladies man, Derek Morgan?"

"They'd learn that I'm smart enough to hide the things I wouldn't want people to see. Even if it's as simple as putting my dirty underwear in the hamper." He stepped over a strewn-out pile of dirty laundry with a look of disgust on his face.

Emily pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket. She wasn't touching anything in Moore's house without some sort of protection. The man lived like a slob. "And what does Derek Morgan feel needs hiding?"

"Nothing this extreme." He held up a stack of magazines, magazines of the ilk that turned Emily's stomach on behalf of every woman. "He has BDSM magazines, and tapes. But I don't see any signs of the tools."

"This isn't is workshop." Emily said, referring to the area where the UNSUB would do his perverse torture of his victims. "How large is this property?"

"About six acres. Moore inherited it from a great aunt. She'd raised him since the age of nine. His parents left him with her and never came back."

"What do we know about his childhood?" Prentiss paused in front of a wall full of photos. A solemn boy stared back at her from most.

"She was older, maybe sixty when he came to her. Upstanding member of the Carlsbad Presbyterian. He was fed, clothed, etc. Garcia is working on more."

"Are you saying that something that happened to Moore as a child led to him killing twelve women?" Calvert asked from the hallway.

"Probably not _something, _but rather a collection or series of somethings." Emily said. "Parental abandonment, an elderly relative with prominent control of him, combined with what ever psychological factors he already possessed. It all could have combined to form our UNSUB."

Calvert still looked skeptical. "Still seems like nothing but an excuse to me."

"Never that. All these factors can be present, in any manner of people. Add in the personal choice to commit these acts, and that's what creates our UNSUB." Emily added. "I don't think we're going to find much more here."

"I'm with you." Morgan said. "This isn't where he does his thing. We need to find that before we can find the answers."

"I'll call Hotch." Emily flipped open her phone.

They were business as usual, despite the hot and heated acts of Seattle. She wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, they'd slept together—although sleep had had little to do with it—but when it came down to the nitty gritty, they were on the West Coat to stop a serial killer. Emily couldn't forget that. Wouldn't forget that. She knew Hotch felt the same way.

They'd discussed it, on the flight back from Washington. Had come to two agreements. One, they'd take things slowly, privately, and calmly between them, trying to make as little waves for the team as possible. Two, they'd always remember that when on cases their primary objective was to solve the cases.

They were two mature professionals, and Emily didn't think they'd have a problem with either part.

Still, Morgan had been eying her funny all day. It was starting to get irritating. He waited until they were back in the SUV they were sharing before finally asking one of the questions she'd been dreading.

"You slept with Hotch, didn't you?"

"Not really any of your business, Morgan." Her voice was a strangled mix of embarrassment and irritation.

"Probably not." Morgan shrugged. "But does that really matter? What matters is the lack of tension in the two of you. I wanted to let you know that this is a good thing. I've already told him that."

"Gee. Thanks, Morgan." Emily knew there was some red staining her cheeks. "You're approval means all the world to me."

"So you did sleep with Hotch." Morgan practically crowed as Emily realized that she'd confirmed his suspicions.

"Morgan, we are not in junior high."

"No. But if Teacher Strauss finds out you've been kissin' Hotch under the bleachers, you are so seriously gonna end up in detention. And Hotch could get expelled." Morgan's words were only half joking. "I just wanted to let you know that I've got your back. Yours and Hotch's."

"Don't you always?" She really did love Morgan. He had such a strong sense of loyalty. It was one of his most admirable characteristics. "Thanks, Derek."

"Anytime." He grinned once. "The positioning of the bodies, that's bothering me a little."

"Yes. Me, too." Emily frowned, then set silent as Morgan maneuvered the SUV through the streets. "It's almost as if he's nestling _children _into those graves."

"Exactly. As if he's tucking them in together so they don't get lonely or anything."

Emily pulled out her phone. Hit speed dial. "Hey Garcia. You are on speaker."

"Ok. I'm here with the hottest Hotch on the planet. What can we—_he—_do you for?"

Emily mentally groaned while Morgan snickered.

"Baby girl, was Gerald Moore an only child?" Morgan fought to keep back a smile. Emily fought the urge to smack him.

"Nothing officially listed. Hang on a second, let me check the great-aunt's tax returns." A few minutes passed. "No. As far as all records indicate, Gerald Moore was the only of an only. The great-aunt was his only living relative until two months ago."

"Possible stresser?" Emily asked. "Fits the timeline."

"Doesn't explain the almost parental method of remorse shown." Morgan said, then quickly explained their line of reasoning to Hotch via the phone. "Hotch, man. We postulated that the UNSUB would be in a relationship, a stable one. Yet there was no indication of a woman in his home. I don't think we were that far off. Garcia, can you find me anything on Moore's personal history?"

"Give me fifteen minutes, Garcia over and out."

She rang back fourteen minutes later, just as Morgan was guiding the SUV into the station's parking garage.. "Gerald Moore was married to a woman who had two children from a previous marriage. From all accounts they were a relatively happy and stable couple."

"We're in the parking lot, we'll be there shortly." Morgan said, killing the engine. Two minutes later they were crowded around Garcia's computer screen.

"What happened?" Emily asked, leaning into Hotch's shoulder almost unconsciously.

"That's just it. Nobody seems to know. Last known address for Sara Moore was twenty minutes outside of Boise Idaho. Two months ago. Then from all accounts, the Moore family packed up and moved, supposedly to Indiana. But Indiana shows no records or Sara or her two children. Two months ago, Gerald Moore shows up here, with no sign of Sara or the children." Garcia said.

"Three people don't just disappear." Morgan said.

"Do you think Gerald Moore _made _them disappear?" Emily asked. "

"His first victims?" Hotch frowned. Reid wrote on the whiteboard near the other side of the room. He listed Sara and her children's names, along with question marks. "It would explain the use of the three per grave."

"So, what...he kills his wife and her children, does something with the bodies—probably burying in the woods somewhere in Idaho. Returns to the scene for a while. His great-grandmother dies, leaving him truly alone. So he reacts by reenacting the murders of Sara and the children? What about the sexual sadism?" Emily paced around the room, mind focused on working out the p0ssibilities. "Garcia, was there any hint of abuse in Sara and the children's records?"

"Not that I saw. Had the average number of trips to the ER per child. Nothing that said abuse. Mostly ear infections and the like."

"Still, if it was going on, it doesn't necessarily mean it was reported." Hotch said. "The rest of the pieces, we'll have to get from Moore. Garcia, I want you to stay on Sara Moore. See if you can find something to tell us where she is. Alive or dead."

"Gotcha, head G-man."

"Moore does part time work for Gladdis Construction. Morgan, Calvert, Prentiss and I will check with them. See where he's at today. I want to get him off the streets as quickly as possible. We'll work on tracking any other victims after that." Hotch held Emily's suit coat for her to slip it on over the air cast. He did it without thinking, and she barely registered the gesture.

No one else blinked either. Emily had to wonder if their entire relationship would be like that. Would it make so little of a wave in the team? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Or was it simply because the team were their friends and respected her and Hotch's right to privacy?

She shook her head minutely, determined to not let those type of thoughts dominate. Morgan had told her it was a good thing. And Penelope had long been urging Emily to jump Hotch. A team of profilers couldn't all be wrong. Her and Hotch, maybe they _were _a good thing. It would just take her a while to get used to it. Self-doubts were normal, she knew that.

She looked up at him for a moment as they waited in the elevator. He caught her gaze and smiled. The barest hints of his dimples showed. She fought the urge to smile back. Whatever the final outcome of their relationship, she was glad they'd at least taken the next step.

Only time would tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. And she knew it would be whatever she and Hotch made it. And hadn't they _both _proved that when something mattered to them, they'd fight heaven and earth to get the desired results?

It would be a good thing. She just knew it.

EMILY*HOTCH*EMILY*HOTCH

Hotch resisted the urge to keep Emily behind him as they began the actions that would lead to apprehending the UNSUB. Gerald Moore had reported to work at his customary time of 8:15 am. He'd never missed a day since taking the job two months earlier; he'd also never been late or had any disciplinary issues. He was the model employee.

From all accounts, everyone on the construction team got along well with him although many referred to him as a bit of a braggart and aloof. Nothing the BAU hadn't predicted. His truck was clean and neat, and ran in perfect condition. Hotch ordered two agents to watch the vehicle—which was parked on the south side of the construction lot. On the off chance, they missed Moore he wanted the bases covered.

Hotch was the first to spot Moore among the two dozen workers on the main level of what was to be a three story structure. "Prentiss and Reid, take the far left side. Cut off all access to any form of heavy machinery. Calvert, take two of your agents in the mid-left area. Ramierez take the right, Sidle, the far right. And the rest of you, surround the back. The man we are looking for is the one in the red checked shirt. Morgan, you and I will take point."

Moore didn't resist. He saw the dozen or so agents headed toward him and he surrendered peacefully. It wasn't what Hotch had expected, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was ready for this case to be over, and for him and Emily to be working on some of the _finer _details of their relationship. Like where he would be sleeping that night, and hopefully for many nights to come.

Two hours later, Gerald Moore was cuffed to the interrogation table, and Hotch was beginning the interview. Emily watched from the two-way mirror as the team leader led the man skillfully through the entire pattern.

He broke Moore in twenty minutes, and had the entire story pouring out. The man had killed his wife, just as the BAU had suspected, then the children. Moore couldn't even articulate the why behind his actions. He'd just snapped, killing his entire family. Agents had been sent to Boise to confirm the location of Sara and the children's bodies. He'd reenacted the crime of killing Sara with each woman he'd taken, adding and embellishing more sadistic acts each time. He'd nestled her and her children together in one grave because he'd not wanted Sara to worry about the children. Moore had a hard time even admitting the children were dead. Hotch was careful not to lead him into confessing falsely, but the man eventually provided enough believable details that Hotch was satisfied he'd gotten to the truth.

It was, unfortunately, nothing the BAU hadn't seen before. Still, it was not something they would forget. It was just one more monster off the streets.

HOTCH*EMILY*HOTCH*EMILY

Emily was quiet on the flight back to DC. Hotch sat at her side, their knees touching. Just like they'd done probably a thousand times before. This time it was different, and they both knew it. Hell, the _entire _team knew it.

Hotch bumped her beneath the table, then dropped his hand to cover her knee. She looked up at him, eyes dark and soft. He tilted his head in her direction slightly. "You ok?"

"Just tired." She fought a yawn as she spoke. "And thinking."

He lowered his voice even more. "About...us?"

"No." She shook her head, sending strawberry-scented hair brushing against him.

"Then?"

"He couldn't even explain his actions." She stared at the clouds out her window. "How can we?"

"We can't explain every action; human will dictates that. For all accounts, Gerald Moore had a somewhat normal, if not typical, childhood. His great aunt treated him well, that was evident by the way he spoke of her. He had no other indications of a murderous tendency."

"That's what bothers me the most, I think. He went from being so _ordinary, _so normal, to being a killer responsible for the deaths of fifteen people. If we can't determine the _why _behind that, how can we determine the why behind any human action?" He loved the way her mind worked, how she circled around things in her thought process. It was just as complex as Reid's just in a slightly different way.

"I don't think we can. Gerald Moore made the decision to do what he did every time he grabbed a new victim. The decision to harm and kill was made time and time again. He could have chose to stop. He just didn't. It's that way with every human behavior. In any situation, we can only hope that each choice is the right one." Hotch wrapped an arm around her as unobtrusively as possible. Not that it mattered, the entire team was deep in their own pursuits. Reid was studying some obscure reports, Morgan was listening to music, and JJ was reading. Sidle and his partner were playing magnetic chess of all things.

"And _our _choice will be the right one, for you, me, Jack, the team?" She asked. If he hadn't known her so well he would have automatically assumed she was having doubts. But he knew the truth.

"I'm sure in my decision, Emily. No backing out now."

They spoke little for the rest of the flight. It was a long one and they were tired. She slept on his shoulder, both their chairs leaned back for added comfort. It was nice to be able to share human closeness with someone again. He was ever glad it was with her. Hotch thought back to the last several weeks, since that cold morning he'd woken to find his subordinate curled on his chest as the team lay sound asleep on a pile of hay, thought back over the changes that his life had taken. Changes _he'd _made the choice to let happen. Changes shared with Emily Prentiss. There was one major difference in his life and he would gladly admit it—Aaron Hotchner had regained one of the most important things a person needed to survive: _hope. _

**_Well, I've done it! This Alternate Universe "The Lion and the Antelope" is now finished with this, the final chapter of "Hope". I have made the decision to turn the case in "Apocalypse Now" into a __full-fledged spec script and am working on that project 'in my spare time'. I do appreciate everyone's patience this past year as my updates have slowed down considerably (from 1 a day to 1 a season!)!!_**

**_As some of you know, I have written a spec-script for this show (a spec script is a sample show written about a current series that a writer adds to their portfolio and shows to important people in an attempt to get hired to write for __another__ show). My script is called "Fire Inside" and in it, Prentiss's apartment catches fire. It can be found on my blog page "Scripts and Screenplays." I'll be posting the "Apocalypse Now" script once I finish it. _**

_**As of tomorrow, (12/14) I will be a full-time freelance writer and graphic designer so I will have a bit more time to work on fanfictions than I have this past year. (I've been working an average of 50 hours per week in the hotel industry). I will also be focusing more intensely on my original fiction and my romantic suspense writing career. I'm currently in serious redrafts of my novel "WATCHING" which is about...a criminal profiler named Hell Hellbrook and his sassy, intelligent subordinate, Dr. Georgia Dennis. It can be found on my blog—along with two free novellas—and other pieces about the St. Louis FBI's "Prevention and Analysis of Violent Acts Division" (PAVAD) a unit I created and will eventually feature at least 12 novels, all romantic suspense! Please feel free to check out my blog at http: // bglashbrooks. com. **_

_**Please stop by and leave me a message or follow me on twitter and facebook under bglashbrooks!**_

_**(And as always, Write On!!!!!!)**_


	19. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER**

**THESE STORIES ARE JUST ME GOOFING AROUND. I AM NOT AFFILIATED WITH CBS OR CRIMINAL MINDS OR ANYTHING ELSE. THEY ARE JUST ME FINDING A WAY TO FILL THE GAP BETWEEN SEASON FINALE AND SEASON PREMIERE—SO IT WILL DEFINITELY BE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE ONCE THE PREMIERE OCCURS. AND TO BREAK ANY WRITER'S BLOCK ISSUES I HAVE IN MY OWN FICTION.**

**I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS NOR WILL I PROFIT FROM THESE FANFICTIONS. THIS ONE WILL FOCUS ON A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN EMILY PRENTISS AND AARON HOTCHNER SO IF THAT'S NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA—THIS ISN'T A FIC YOU WANT TO READ.**

**THIS IS RATED MATURE…THIS IS CRIMINAL MINDS AFTER ALL…**

**PLEASE ENJOY!**

**THE LION AND THE ANTELOPE**

**Who We Are, Not What We Do:**

**A story of Hotch and Prentiss**

**_DEREK MORGAN:_**

**_It's like when the lion preys upon antelope._**

**_EMILY PRENTISS:_**

**_You lost me_**

**_DEREK MORGAN:_**

**_That's because you, Emily Prentiss,_**

**_have never been one of the antelope._**

**_EMILY PRENTISS:_**

**_Scratch that, you've totally lost me._**

**_DEREK MORGAN:_**

**_Ok. Check this out, the antelope_**

**_travel in packs, so the lion, just sits and waits…_**

PROLOGUE TO CHANGE:

_I. Krishnamurti  
The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed._

Rossi watched from the back of the group. Just watched his team as they trekked through the South Dakota woods. _It was good to be back, _he thought, thinking of his return to work four months ago after a ten year retirement. Things had changed since his day, but he couldn't find it in himself to complain. The BAU was more of a cohesive unit, a family, than the older team had been. And he put that down to one thing—or three—as this case may be. The old BAU had been a man's man club. Not a female in sight—unless you counted old Bertie, the secretary the entire BAU had shared.

Emily and JJ—and Garcia, back at Washington—certainly changed things, in a way Dave wouldn't have thought possible. And as far as Dave was concerned, they changed it only for the better of all around them.

Just look at them. Well, _two_ of them.

They walked behind Reid and Morgan, arms linked, as they chatted about shoes, of all things. Their spirits were keeping everyone's spirits up. Distracting them from the fact that somewhere in the woods around them were _two_ groups of men who'd want nothing more than to see the great FBI agents fail and flounder in the wilds they suddenly found themselves in. If they didn't kill them outright.

JJ stumbled, dressed way inappropriately for an impromptu trek down a mountain at nine o'clock at night—but she'd not had time to change after the press conference she'd arranged. Morgan turned to the blonde, one hand wrapping around her arm to help balance her, while Emily did the same on the other side.

Emily and Morgan, at least, knew how to dress for the field. Dark fatigues and cotton tee-shirts, with sturdy, serviceable boots, served those two consummate agents well, making them blend into their dark surroundings—even if Rossi always found the mode of dress incongruous with the younger woman's personality. She seemed more the silk and satin type, compared with the commando type that Morgan seemed to be born to. Still—the woman knew her way around the field, so maybe it wasn't so surprising?

Hotch, JJ, and Reid—they were obviously the more citified members of the team. Chinos and sweater for Reid, although his brown leather shoes were probably at least minimally comfortable. Hotch—Hotch was dressed in his prosecutorial clothes; navy suit, severe tie, black shoes that weren't designed for hiking. But neither complained. Just walked.

It was Hotch, Rossi thought, who was the particular fly in the family ointment, the last holdout to the old way of the BAU, for all his lecture to Dave that day about how things had changed for the better in the last ten years.

Aaron Hotchner deliberately cut himself off from the 'family' the team had become. He closed himself off, separated himself, in a way that Dave knew was completely unhealthy. He'd seen it before—hell, he'd _experienced_ it before.

And it needed to change, for the younger man. And quickly. But _how?_

Emily paused in her trek, turning toward the man in the rear. "Dave, you getting lost back there?"

"In thought, Emily." Dave admitted, walking a little faster. He linked his arm through hers, being hit with the subtle scent of strawberries he'd learned to associate with this woman—the one whom he felt the closest to out of all of the team. Even closer than Hotchner, these days. If Dave was completely honest with himself—completely, the way only a profiler could be—he'd admit his feelings for the much younger brunette weren't always completely professional. Ten years, if he was ten years younger—and not three times divorced—he'd have been after her from day one.

Emily Prentiss was the kind of woman men should have dreamed about. The kind men wrote poems about—not that she knew that, though. Smart, funny, beautiful, sexy, witty, compassionate, strong, understanding—she understood the human mind, and that made her able to understand the type of man who could do this job. Because _she_could do this job. And as far as Dave was concerned it was completely unfathomable that she was still unattached—he'd think that every free man in the BAU would have been after her. Every one of them, on all the teams.

He knew Sommers' man had asked her out, he'd heard her refusal, but it surprised him immensely that the members of her _own _team hadn't seen what a prize she was. He could see her with someone like Morgan—strong, honorable, a bit on the wounded side, and he could see her with someone like Aaron. Coolly professional, civilized on the outside, primitive on the inside. Yet, as far as he knew, neither man looked at her that way. Derek treated her like the best friend he'd ever had, more so than he did Garcia—although Dave had an inkling as to the feelings between those two—and Emily seemed more comfortable with the man then she did with anyone in the unit. She trusted him completely, and Dave knew that trust didn't come that easily to a woman like Emily—one who was coolly professional, slightly wounded, a straight-shooter, honest to a fault, loving, and compassionate—yet utterly reserved with all but a select few.

Dave was just glad he, himself, was beginning to be one of those select few. _Pity, _he thought, _that he wasn't ten years younger. _Emily Prentiss's single status wouldn't stand a chance, then.

"Deep thoughts, Dave?" Emily laughed beside him, and he realized he'd been quiet a little too long.

"Just thinking about the most beautiful woman in the world." He whispered to her, eyes wiggling theatrically. With her, he could be himself, laugh about things he couldn't with the others on the team—even sober, somber Aaron. "How 'bout when we get back to DC, you and I go camping for real?"

"Your cabin, I presume?" Emily laughed fully, then. "Never happening, Romeo."

"A man can dream, can't he?" Dave nudged her shoulder softly. He laughed louder when a coyote sounded nearby and both she and JJ—and Reid—jumped, squealed a little. "Afraid of the big bad wolf, Super Agent Prentiss? Don't worry, Red. I'm sure between Morgan, Hotch, Reid, and I—we can protect you."

"I've got my gun, Dave. If I see that big old wolf, I'll protect myself." Emily snickered, as they caught up to the rest of the little group. "Have any of you ever actually _seen _a wolf—or coyote—up close and personal?"

"Have you?" Morgan quipped, the city boy feeling slightly out of his depth surrounded by so many darkened woods.

"Well, yes." Emily admitted, as the group stalled for a small break. "I was about twelve or thirteen. Spending the summer in the Alps with my grandfather."

"What happened? Do you know what kind of wolf it was? Was it a gray wolf? How big was it?" Reid asked, excitedly.

"Slow down, Reid. It was more than twenty years ago. The first time I saw one." Emily laughed, reaching up to ruffle the younger man's hair in an unconscious gesture of affection. "I was out with my cousin. She and I were taking photos. We came over a hill, and there she was. Beautiful, and twenty feet away from us."

"Alone?" Dave asked, struck by the apprehension that the thought of two young girls meeting a wolf in the forest caused. "What happened?"

"I think she was denning, actually. We backed away as slowly as we could." Emily's sigh was one of remembrance for a lifetime so long gone. "I managed to get several wonderful shots. Actually won an award with one of them. I'll never forget it. She was beautiful, wild, free, primal. Gorgeous. I saw several more through the years but nothing like _her._"

"Wow." JJ said, "I would have freaked."

"I'd been in the woods enough to know that you stayed as quiet as possible. Learned not to move when not to move." Emily laughed, then. "It was wonderful."

Dave couldn't really picture it, this woman at home in the woods, but he'd seen the evidence himself. Even today. They'd spent hours on trails, visiting the crime scenes of four dead teenagers. He, Hotch, Emily, and Morgan—and of all them, himself included, Emily had had the least amount of trouble moving around in the steep countryside. She was like a damned antelope, graceful and delicate, yet perfectly comfortable in the wooded world.

"Emily, our little wilderness girl." JJ snickered.

"Every summer for six years. Nothing to do but hang out in the Alps."

"Beautiful country." Rossi said, having been in the region on part of his book tour. "I'd like to go back there, someday."

"I have a cabin there." Emily admitted, "My grandfather left it to me and my cousin when he died."

"You get back much?" Morgan asked, knowing the woman rarely took a vacation.

"Every couple of years. I try. It doesn't always happen." Emily's sigh then was sad, and Dave patted her back slightly.

"Tell you what, Emily." Dave said, slyly, teasingly, loud enough for the entire group to hear. "Anytime you feel the urge to shoot on over to the Alps—I'll gladly provide company."

"Ah, but Dave, the purpose of the cabin—is to be alone." Emily snickered, knowing Dave's teasing was just in fun. "And it's a one room cabin, my friend. You'd have to sleep outside. With the wolves."

"You are heartless, Agent Prentiss." Dave laughed, as well as JJ, Reid, and Morgan. Hotch hadn't said anything.

In fact, Dave realized, the man hadn't said anything at all since they'd climbed into their SUV for the drive back to the small sheriff's office and realized the battery was completely drained. _What was going on with him?_

"Hey!" Emily said, suddenly pointing to the east. "What's that?"

"What?" JJ asked, "I don't see anything."

"Neither do I." Reid said, straining to see through the dark woods.

"It looks to be a building." Hotch said, flatly. "We might as well check it out. We're not walking all the way back to town this late."

Not with both a group of UNSUBS and a large country militia nearby. Six agents were no match for three dozen armed rednecks. And a storm coming in.

Luckily, it was a building, though it had apparently been abandoned. Still, the barn was shelter, and it had several large piles of hay that would provide some sort of bedding. Still, it was a good eight hundred feet from the road, and it was night—how had Emily seen that? They were just thankful she had.

As the first rumble of thunder sounded in the distance the team moved toward the barn. Hotch's thoughts were as dark as the night around them. He was inexplicably angry at his team—especially Dave. The man had been hovering around Prentiss the entire four mile hike, and it more than pissed Hotch off. Dave was _not _going to mess up the team's dynamics by putting the moves on one of his female agents. Hotch wasn't going to let that happen.

And Prentiss—she hadn't exactly seemed all that discouraging. Laughing with the older man the way she never even attempted with Hotch. Teasing him, letting him tease her. Touching him. Letting him touch her.

She wasn't exactly being the cool, composed, do-not-touch woman he expected her to be. The perfect agent, the one he rarely had to worry about. The one he'd never seen lose her composure on a case. The one he trusted more than he'd ever thought he could trust on the job. And she was about to abuse that trust by _flirting _with Dave. A man almost old enough to be her father.

Highly unprofessional. Not like her. Like Dave, though. Hotch questioned for a moment the extent of Dave's feelings, playing over the exchanges he'd cataloged between the two in the four months since Dave had joined the team.

Emily brought Dave coffee and breakfast at least twice a week. Dave took her out for drinks after work, just as often. They spent at least a half an hour together in Dave's office each morning laughing and talking. She'd accompanied Dave to the charity function Aaron had also attended. She was more relaxed with the older man than she was anyone else on the team—JJ and Morgan included. So it was possible they had feelings for each other. But what did Hotch really know about her feelings on anything?

She was never relaxed with Hotch. In fact, Hotch realized, as he contemplated the dark-haired woman walking a few paces behind him, she seemed almost _afraid _of him. Afraid of what he thought? Afraid of what he'd see in her?

What was it? Why did she not trust him the way she did the rest of the team? Was it just because of the admitted way he'd treated her in the last year, year and a half?

Hotch had spent a lot of time in the last few months since the divorce—and since the separation—delving his actions and interactions with those around him. Including the team.

He knew deep down, he'd let his team down in the more than fundamental ways. He knew he always portrayed the perfect leader, the consummate profiler, to his people. But had he ever showed them that it got to him, too? That it was ok to be human once in a while?

He'd told JJ it was alright to let things get to her, on the outskirts of a Civil War battlefield. Told Reid about the divorce papers Hayley wanted him to sign uncontested. Told Morgan about how she'd left and he wasn't sure she was ever coming back. Told the entire group, right there when those damned papers arrived, that Hayley wanted a divorce.

But had he ever told his team how much they actually mattered to him? How much it had surprised him when Reid had thrown his arms around him after the whole Hinkle ordeal?

He didn't think so.

And if it came down to it, if _he_ had been the one to fly to Indianapolis half-cocked the way Dave had a few weeks ago, would the team have flown to his aid? He didn't know. He did know it wouldn't have been Agent Emily Prentiss leading the charge the way he'd heard she had with Dave.

And if he was honest with himself, it would be completely understandable. He'd done nothing to get to know her, or even to keep up with the rest of his team. What did he know about JJ's life now? Reid's? He knew the younger man had been going to support groups, but for how long? How was he doing?

As for Derek and Prentiss, what did he really know about them _at all? _Derek had closed himself off some, since the Carl Buford arrest, at least, closed himself off from him. He'd apparently been more than effusive with Prentiss.

Garcia, he'd learned by overhearing, had come to depend on Emily for emotional support after the Battle shooting. She depended on the older woman for emotional support the way she used to turn to Derek. How did Derek feel about that?

Hotch had been watching his team closely since the night he'd signed the papers. Watching to see how his actions had affected the rest of the people he cared about. See where he fit, now.

He wasn't too happy with what he'd seen. He'd cut himself off from everybody, and they might just have given up on him by now. So he'd made an effort, opening up first to the one person least likely to judge him. Reid, he'd felt, deserved the first overture. Especially after the Chester Hardwick interview. Hotch had antagonized the situation, potentially putting the boy at risk. So he'd told him about Hayley, about how yes, his personal life did influence him at work sometimes, too.

JJ and Morgan—things were ok with those two. He'd not done anything to royally screw up his relationships with either one of them. Mostly because he'd not let himself get close enough to them to have something _to _mess up. But they were ok. And at least he had basic relationships with the two _to_ build on.

And Dave—Dave was probably the closest friend he had, especially now. So they were good. Would be ok.

Garcia—he knew he had her respect, her admiration, and she knew when the chips were down, she could trust him to do what he had to for her. So things between him and the colorful tech were alright.

That left one other person. The one to whom he probably owed the most for his cold, aloof behavior this past year. Longer. Since she'd joined the BAU, really.

The closest they'd ever had to a real, non-job related conversation had been when she'd wanted to take that girl home with her. And he'd told her he needed _her _objective. What he hadn't told her was that if _she _lost her objectivity, he didn't know what to do. She'd always, from day one, kept her emotions out of the job. Always. And that's what he'd come to depend on from her. What he _needed _from her.

She'd looked at him and told him she needed to be human. Told him with her eyes that she doubted _he _was. Had ever been, and would ever be. It had bruised him, that look of accusation in those dark eyes.

She'd never opened up to him again. Never spoken to him about anything not case related in the months since that day, nothing of importance, that was. Inconsequential things, things that might be work-related, or casual, inane nothings. But nothing real, nothing important to her. If he hadn't been her superior—he doubted she'd have spoken to him at all since that day.

And he'd learned more about her in the last few hours than he had in months. And she hadn't been talking to _him_. She'd been laughing with _Dave. _Ruffling _Reid's _hair. Encouraging _JJ_ to keep walking. Walking beside _Derek. _Not even acknowledging _Hotch._

So how was he to mend the relationship he had with this final teammate?

Aaron Hotchner had no idea. Not a damned clue.


End file.
